“I’m glad to hearyou say that. I was hoping you’d be willing to come to the venue a couple hoursearly to run through the set a couple of times. The crew always sets up atuning room for us somewhere at the venue. It gives us a chance to warm up,play through the songs, and knock off any rough edges before soundcheck withMelody.”
“Man, that wouldbe great,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
I’d been on asteady diet of Melody’s music since my first conversation with Harmony and knewthe material forward and backward but knew everything would feel totallydifferent when playing with the band. The more time I could spend playing withthem before showtime the better.
“Your guitartech will bring a van around to pick up you and your gear tomorrow at 10:00am.I’ve got a guy from a local shop that’ll be here with a selection of guitars,amps, pedals, and anything else you need us to rent for the tour. Don’t be shy.Whatever you need, we’ve got you covered.”
“Wow, thanks.I’ve never had someone so much as help carry my amp before.”
“Welcome to thebig league, baby.”
* * *
The next morning,a rail-thin, pasty young man covered in tattoos showed up on my doorstepprecisely at 10:00am and introduced himself as “Ant,” my guitar tech. Ofcourse, I never could have known that Anthony “Ant” Palermo would end up beingone of the most sought-after techs in the industry, but also one of my bestfriends.
“Nice to meetyou Ant, I’m Train.”
“Thiseverything?” he asked, pointing to the modest array of gear I’d assembled. Twoelectric guitars, my favorite acoustic, a VOX AC30 amplifier, and a small pedalboard. The same gear I’d used for years.
“That’sit. Except for my suitcase, and my bike,” I said.
“Cool. How aboutI load your gear and luggage into the van, and you follow me to the venue onyour bike?”
I gave Ant ahand loading the van, locked up, and before I knew it, we’d arrived at theloading docks of Portland’s famous Rose Quarter Sports and EntertainmentDistrict.
The RoseQuarter, home of the Portland Trailblazers, featured a nineteen-thousand seatarena, originally named the Rose Garden, but has since been rebranded the MODACenter. Of course, to us locals, it will always be the Rose Garden, and toevery local musician, a dream venue to one day play. I could barely process thattoday wasthatday for me.
Ant led me tothe loading docks, passing through several security checkpoints along the way.Once we arrived, I was introduced to Rick, the fleet captain of the truckers.He found a safe and secure spot on one of the trucks to put my bike that stillallowed me access to it whenever needed.
Once my bike wastaken care of, Ant and I shuttled my gear through the underground labyrinth ofthe Rose Quarter until finally reaching the large multi-purpose room turnedrehearsal space where I found Vick setting up his array of keyboards. Apartfrom a few techs, he appeared to be the only one there.
“You found theplace!” he exclaimed, waving me over to his station.
“Hey, Vick. Niceto meet you face-to-face,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Thanks againfor jumping in on such short notice,” he said. “The rest of the guys should behere soon. Go ahead and set up next to me so I can give you cues as we runthrough the set.”
“Alright, soundsgood,” I said, and Ant got busy unpacking my gear.
Pulling my LesPaul out of its case, Ant hissed.
“What’s wrong?”I asked.
“May as wellkeep this one in the case,” he replied.
I frowned. “Why?What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing as faras I’m concerned. It’s beautiful but the boss has a strict ‘no white guitars’policy.”
“What?”
“It’s true,”Vick interjected. “If she so much as sees a white guitar, she’ll fly into atotal rage.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, man.”
I shrugged.“Well, my Strat’s tobacco sunburst, but it’s the only other electric guitarI’ve got. I don’t have a backup or anything.”
