I’ll be the first to admit that I can get pretty worked up when things don’t go as planned at a show. I’m generally even-tempered enough not to throw a fit when hospitality doesn’t provide the cookies we asked for on the dressing room rider, but when, for example, the support act plays 10 minutes longer than the designated time slot, I’m likely to turn into Mr. Hyde (or “Stevie The Bat,” as some of my friends have dubbed my evil alter ego). Thankfully, it’s only a certain few things that wind me up, and the vast majority of the time all parties involved survive a show unscathed.
Last week, we did a show at a theater I won’t name out of respect for the privacy of one of the house crew. It was a rather ordinary day, the worst part of which was getting to the gig: approximately nine hours of travel. Ugh. Business as usual.
When we arrived at the venue, my techs started doing their thing while I turned my attention to the usual routine of checking on hospitality (no problem with the cookies), meals, merch, ticket counts, guest list, etc. Once most of that stuff was sorted, I was able to turn my attention to the fun part of the day—being an audio guy.
The house crew was more than competent and quite solicitous—really a pleasure to work with. My audio systems tech helped me dial in the system and gave me some suggestions regarding room acoustics. We checked the balcony and front-fill feeds, and he even made sure that I had a working CD player at FOH (a rare commodity these days) to run my show sound effects. Don’t make fun of me or I’ll start asking for a turntable!
It wasn’t until we were on our way back to the hotel that I learned that one of the house crew has stage four cancer (though I did notice that his skin color had that look of someone who is undergoing chemo). If that doesn’t smack you into perspective, then I don’t know what will. He did his gig, and did it well—without complaint or request for assistance. He had a great attitude and a snarky sense of humor, which was in line with that of my own. He was obviously happy doing his gig, God bless him.
When we got to our hotel after the show—approximately three-and-a-half hours before lobby call the next morning—I thought about all the dumb things that can wind me up, and how none of it really matters. Yes, we all take seriously the concept of putting on a show and doing it to the best of our ability, and nothing brings me more joy than seeing somebody leave the venue with a smile on their face after a show is over.
But in the big scheme of things, what we do is stock the shelves in the toy store. There are people dealing with far more important issues, like simply trying to survive.
