Posted by Icky (24.24.168.81) on April 15, 2004 at 20:25:05:
In Reply to: Cheap Trick posted by Mr Tom on April 15, 2004 at 18:30:01:
Cheap Trick Story Number One.
In 1996, when Imperial Drag was touring the 'States, we were playing in Cleveland ("Hello, Cleveland!") at a club called "Shooters live". It was down on the "Flats" area of Cleveland, where all of the rock clubs are. It was the last night of a band called “Super 8” ‘s touring bout with us and another band called “Super Deluxe” (anyone paying attention in the late 90’s probably noticed the prevalence of “Super”, “Drag”, and “Imperial” bands ), and we were all making merry; jumping onstage at each other’s set ends & stuff. As we jumped offstage, after laying waste (sorry, we did) to the sold-out crowd there, we were making our ways to the dressing room area, inside the club (The stage, which, if you watch the beginning of “The Drew Carey Show”, you can see it, is outside on a wooden-dock/patio/gazebo-sort of thing). Fumbling my way through the forest of congratulatory fans, I almost walked smack into a tall guy with tousled, brown hair. It was Tom Petersen. “Hey, man! Great set!” I held back the urge to pee. “Thanks!” I offered back., feebly, trying to keep my “cool”. Before I could say another word, Robin Zander parted the throngs of people, and stuck out his hand. “That was awesome! Great show!”. At that moment, I flashed back to being ten years old and having my best friend, Eric Roemheld playing “Heaven Tonight” for me for the first time. The first time I heard “On top of the world” , I knew right then and there that this was going to be my favorite band.
Tom asked where the other guys (Roger & Eric) were, to which I told them to meet us all back in the dressing room. They took off, and I made my way back toward the hospitality area where I had left my bag & change of clothes (we get pretty sweaty up there). As I walked in, I was beaming to my friend Braiden, the Alt-Zander-like, dreamy lead singer of Super Deluxe, that I had just been complimented by two of my Bonafide heroes. We were commenting on what an awesome night it already was, and now the promise of getting to hang out with my idols – in the context of peers – I just thought I was going to burst. We hadn’t stepped two feet into the backstage area when a Champagne bottle went hurling past our heads and exploded through a plate-glass widnow inside the club. Braiden and I ducked out of the way just in time to miss the shower of tempered glass. We looked around to see where the bottle had come from, and saw two guys running down the hallway, giggling and flipping steam tables from the earlier catering set up, into the air.. Braiden and I looked at each other in concern and confusion. We made our way down the hall to the dressing room. As I walked inside, I saw Joel, the Guitar player from Super 8, and the guitar player from Super Deluxe (Who’s name escapes me now) all red-face and panting. “WHO JUST BROKE THAT FUCKING WINDOW?!”, My voice boomed through the dressing room. Just as I said that I looked over into the far corner of the very large room. There sat Roger, Eric, Tom Petersen and Robin Zander. Shit. But it was too late. I broke the mood completely with my authoritarian bellowing, albeit warranted. The two culprits were overcome with shit-eating grins that betrayed their guiltiness. “Did YOU guys do that?!” “Yeah, dude, y’know, it’s cool”. “No, it’s NOT COOL, you FUCKING IDIOTS! WE’RE GONNA HAVE TO PAY FOR THAT, since WE’RE THE HEADLINERS!” I roared. Just as I could see the looks of realization of regret cast a pall over their faces, three rather large men appeared in the doorway. It was the club owner and two gigantic bouncers in yellow security t-shirts. The owner hollered, “ALRIGHT. EVERYONE WHO’S NOT IN THE BAND, GET OUT NOW!”. I closed my eyes and hung my head. After all of these years, I finally get to hang out with idols of mine in a totally relaxed environment, maybe talk about music, the weather, shoot the shit – and I have to see them get kicked out of our dressing room. I wanted to kill those guys.
The other bands ended up paying for the window, and Joel actually had to give up one of his prized guitars to pay for the damages. Robbie, our Tour Manager, did damage control, kissed a lot of ass, and we bid that bittersweet night of the tour, one which could’ve been so amazing I could’ve puked and had stories to tell my Grandkids, goodnight.