Melbourne – far away from all that

Two shows in Melbourne, Southern Australia, back to back, a luxury in some ways.  The crew don’t have to tear it down and build it back up and we don’t have to travel again.  We can wake up slowly and wander into consciousness.

thanks! glad to be here!

Happy greetings at the Palais theatre in Melbourne.  Built in 1927, it’s a funky monument by the sea.  God knows what stories it can tell.

scaffolding frames it nicely

Like everything else by the ocean the Palais is constantly falling apart.  And like any architectural monument to show business from another era it’s worth preserving.

you know where this is going...

A new and surprising notice provided by catering.  While no one’s copping to anything, I suspect this is spillover into the band world of an old gastronomical prejudice for life on the crew bus.

fan art is the best art

Backstage there are sacred relics of a sort.

I can smell the sea

From the window of our dressing room behind bars, the ocean breeze brings the scent of freedom.

so close and yet...

As a teenager I was in love with Yes; the melodies, songs, singing, harmonies, production, visual aesthetic and, of course, the bass playing.  The bass player was my all-time hands-down favorite bassist.  I lived those classic albums and, oddly, never learned the bass parts.  It was enough to listen to the songs, whole.  In 1976 I ordered a brand new (my first) Rickenbacker 4001, in Autumn-Glo, a particularly hideous brown burst finish.  When the instrument arrived at the music store I rushed over and laid the case on the floor and opened it up wide.  It smelled so noxious it almost knocked me out.  Was it the finish?  The case?  Hide glue?  Who the hell knows…I thought the invisible repulsive chemical cloud billowing up into my nineteen year old nostrils the most sublime scent imaginable.  To this day I can conjure the smell and the feeling.  This was *it*.   Of course I played the hell out of that bass, with a pick, and loud too, in my high school rock band “God Only Knows” (named by our drummer’s Mom – a nurse – a regional hospital slang for a disease of which there is no known cause or cure).  That same year I graduated from high school, barely, and soon after that traded in my prog rock aspirations along with my Rickenbacker for a 1977 Fender Jazz bass, a Philadelphia musician’s union card and a six piece uniformed disco/show band working six sets a night six nights a week at the Jersey shore.

What would I say to Chris Squire if I met him today?  Thanks?  Certainly, yes.  What else can be said?  Thanks, Chris, wherever you are.

i want to believe

Upstairs at the Palais a skylight casts an odd glow through a translucent glass door.

engine of creation

Downstairs at the Palais a silent early Twentieth Century internal combustion engine dominates a small room out back.

don't go in the funhouse

Across the street from the Palais an amusement park presents no attraction whatsoever.

on the beach

The beach in front of the Palais reminds me of the Jersey shore on a flat day.  A warm on shore breeze fills my head.

our children consider us fools

Out front of the Palais theatre a newlywed couple chooses to document their union in an ostentatious and only slightly American way.

i sense a theme here

Catering: what are they trying to tell us?

two of the unsung heroes of the tour, part 9 (Chris (L) & Galen)

There’s no appropriate words to accurately paint the picture of crew life.  I wouldn’t last two days – the hours, the responsibilities – I’d be booted off the island pretty quick.  Crew work doesn’t ever appear to cease.  The story goes that if a poorly performing employee were to be let go from a certain rock tour they would only find out when management politely inquired of them whether they preferred a seat on the aisle or by a window?

you're either on the bus or...

God forbid you should miss the van or bus.  The admonishment “bad form” wouldn’t even begin to cover it.  It simply isn’t done.  “Don’t be a stain” is a caution I’ve heard referring to one who shows up late to the “runner to venue” call.  It refers, apparently, to what you’re left with – the oil spots on the driveway in the location where the now departed vehicle stood.

sometimes even duct tape doesn't help

Near our hotel evidence of the fallibility and impermanence of all things – a positively Buddhist moment – is displayed by the failure of even this iconic material.

stylistic integrity

On a walkabout near the hotel I allow myself a present – new shoes.  They’re not that different from the old ones, either.  Now, after two relaxed and enjoyable shows in Melbourne we all catch the morning bus on time and, like a flock of migrating birds (“an ‘itch’ of talent”?) morning finds us waiting for a plane to Adelaide.  Mr. Lukather digs into a page turning mystery while Mr. Vai absorbs a few extra kharma points.

there's something you don't see every day

 

show in Sydney

On the large stage of the Hordern Pavilion in Sydney, Australia, Steve Vai gives as good as he gets to a capacity crowd filling the hall.

shooting the moon

At a select point in the Vai set, Mike Keneally, armed with an axe of his own to grind, strides onto the stage in a purposeful manner.

here come the warm jets

Meanwhile, backstage, Mick Brigden delivers to Joe copies of the Satchurated concert DVD and CD.  A carefully recorded, filmed (hi-def! 3D!) and mixed live show from Montreal, Canada, in December 2010, the film is already in limited release in several hundred 3D theaters worldwide.  This release is a watershed moment for this author.  Joe knows a moment when he sees one.  Look Ma!  Top of the world!!!

one of these things is not like the other

Steve Vai and band have left a smoking crater in front of the stage and now it’s our turn to mop up.  This we do with enjoyment.  Following quickly on our raucous and enthusiastic set, the G3 guitarists grab notes and squeeze.

one note open string bass line makes this photo possible

After the set we are all energized.  This was an especially good one, it had the magic. The guitar players animatedly and happily discuss their notes (they do this!) and Joe demonstrates a peak moment as Vai and Luke laugh in recognition.

air guitar (L to R: Luke, Joe & Vai)

Outside, out back of the venue a wild rabid horde of fans presses dangerously up against steel retaining bars eager to catch a glimpse, a word, a signature, a guitar pick….ahh…actually, no.  It was an appreciative and polite bunch, bless them, and they asked nicely.

Steve Lukather signs autographs

The next day is a travel day, to Melbourne and beyond.  I think 8am is early but the crew has already left the hotel.

where is your cruise ship now Herr Frankenstein?

There isn’t enough coffee in the world.

Sydney – day of show

My day begins at noon.  Last night’s two hour drive from Newcastle back to Sydney under heat lightning was spent looking between storm clouds for the constellation of the Southern Cross.  I don’t get the view, however, and back in my room I fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.  When I wake up and pull open the heavy blackout curtain I’m startled by an enormous cruise ship.

it was moving very slowly

At our call in the lobby we gather, as usual, with smiling greetings and pile into the van.  Dave Weiner is fashionable in his retro Boston tshirt.

Jeff (L) and Dave

I believe it’s possible (in part) to tell what’s going on in a musician’s head by the t-shirt they’re wearing.  Where t-shirts are worn, mostly in the rock world, players might wear something cool and topical, how they might be feeling or want to feel.  A t-shirt of the album cover from the first Boston record says: it’s cool to like old stuff, it was a big hit and a lot of people probably fell in love or got laid to it, and now it’s iconic audio.  Enough time has passed.

Mr. & Mrs. Jones

Married for twelve years, high-school sweethearts Renee (bass) and her husband Steve (keyboards) play in Steve Lukather’s band.  Luke acknowledges he’s lucky to have them.  They’re relaxed with each other and their world reflects that comfort.

sound check

Having been burned a couple times by capricious audio gremlins, Steve Lukather spends a little extra time at sound check working through some kinks in the signal path.

like anyone is going to do this at a G3 show

An enormous sign hangs near the side of the stage.  I wonder if a spotlight shines on this sign throughout the performance.  Just a friendly reminder in case anyone is being transported with emotion and considering violent physical release.

Joe & Steve meet with fans

Adjacent to the venue is an enormous empty building suitable for livestock exposition.  Naturally Joe and Steve host their Q & A in one cozy corner of the hangar.  It’s abnormally still for such a cavernous space.  Joe, by speaking quietly, intuitively lessens the enormity of the silence.  This causes the attendees to listen more closely.  It’s like being inside the pyramids.

Graham (L) & Michael bring on the haute cuisine

Back at catering it’s a grand spread, a smorgasbord, with Michael and Graham taking orders to cook our dinner individually, right on the spot.  It’s a great gift to be able to eat this well.

wall of signatures preserved

In the dining room an old wall of signatures is mounted on casters and persevered behind plexiglass.  I notice the Billy Joel especially, if only because his name keeps coming up during this tour.  And not only because a flight attendant accused Luke of looking like him (which he really, really doesn’t).  Mike Keneally is known to spontaneously erupt into song, a behavior I admire and emulate, and one song in particular strikes his fancy: that moment in “Honesty” when Mr. Joel goes for the climactic “hardly ever heeeaaarrrd!” and of course we all mangle it together.  Helpless laughter is a not untypical result.  Try harmonizing with it, too.  None of us can believe Luke never worked with Mr. Joel.  How did that singer songwriter guy slip through the cracks?

wish my was stomach larger

I consider dessert but my cup runneth over.  Is it an embarrassment of riches?

I chose the lamb but beets stole the show

Sated and even stuffed, I make my way down to our enormous dressing room.  One could choreograph a short ballet in this place.  We get socks, too, and they are the perfect antithesis of the elongated schoolboy rugby up-your-thigh technical socks of Canberra.  These socks are more like little slippers.  I test my theory of sock juxtaposition.

from the sublime to the ridiculous

It’s a failure, as I knew it would be.

unique cereal names

Keeping with the new meme of odd cereal, I offer: “Krunchy Pur.”  But I am distracted.  What’s that sound?  It’s the Steve Lukather band and tonight they are absolutely smoking.  We notice from our giant dressing room.  This band is on fire tonight.  There’s that little extra this evening – the magic.

(L to R) Steve Lukather, Renee Jones, Steve Wiengart, Eric Valentine

After the show I rush over to their equally cavernous dressing room.  I want to see their faces after that set.  I am not disappointed.

I give my kid stickers, one time, and look what happens

On my way back to our world I spy this piece of backstage equipment, customized within an inch of its life.

Joe is interviewed by the home team

As Steve Vai prepares to go on Joe is interviewed by a couple of local industry gear guys.  The two gents represent a large-ish Japanese instrument manufacturer that benefits healthily from the visibility offered to them through Joe’s exclusive use of their product in performance.  I am not convinced the man on the right is entirely comfortable with his recording device.

Newcastle and environs

Up to Newcastle, on the Central Coast, where we play at a facility that shows as an odd amalgamation of private gambling casino, public bar, children’s daycare (“not now honey, mommy’s on a roll!”) and performance center.  About two hours north of Sydney by van at 120 kmh, through low riverine valleys under broken sky.

I want my own drumstick

The sameness of the scenery causes my attention to wander, and I grab one of Eric Valentine’s sticks 3B wood tipped drumsticks.  Is this his actual signature?

shop window - what are they really saying?

There is extra time after line check and I escape the facility to wander the surrounding neighborhood.  Many band members are at the MacDonald’s down the street because it has free and functional wifi.  Walls facing the street display posters for upcoming shows as well as other entreaties.

some things never change

Can you squeal?  Do you look good?  hmmm….okay, cool.  What, you have a van?  Right.  You’re in.

dusk in a park - Newcastle

everyone home for dinner

The rains have stopped and the warm thick humid air is the right temperature for wandering aimlessly.  Gathering dusk means time to head back to the venue, though.  Luke will be starting soon and that means I’ll grab a bass, warm up my fingers, change clothes and stretch.  When Vai’s set begins then I know we’re close and I start to get antsy.  O yes, these are all part of being prepared, of being professional.  Those details observed, a good time can be had.  The icing on this splendid cake arrives when the sound on stage is great.  That’s when the music becomes magic.

Back at the venue after an enjoyable ramble I encounter two old friends in conversation.

imagine them as teenagers

Imagine them as teenagers together.  Hanging out in Joe’s room maybe, playing guitar, watched over by posters of Alice Cooper and Jimi Hendrix.  Downstairs Mom is cooking and if Steve is going to stay over for dinner he’ll have to give his Mom a call to let her know.  There’s a single family phone number and he’ll use the kitchen wall phone with a long coiled cable twisted into an impossible knot.  There’s no answering machine but a pad of paper and pencil are close at hand to take messages.

it's not so hard to do

Did Mom and Dad despair that their kids would never “amount to anything?” I know mine did.  Thankfully, their predictions were correct.

Philip Bynoe gets the funk on my P.

Luke’s set done, Vai’s set about to begin, Philip wanders by and I coerce him into trying my Precision bass.  It’s like a ukelele in his hands.  The oversized knobs make him laugh.  We’ll be up soon.

in which the tourist encounters human nature in new territory

I take the opportunity to wander through a city I’ve never been, in a country I’ve never seen, populated with creatures unfamiliar and strange.  I let my feet be my guide, moving slowly through the dense downtown of south Sydney, the lower part of the urban sprawl, by the harbor.

a blue-suited smoker rests under a fig tree in Hyde Park

The air is humid following heavy rainfall, traffic is heavy too, and cool green parks are a welcome respite.

a cross section of Sydneysiders (& tourists) awaits its instructions

The city is Western in character, English speaking and very businesslike.

taxi in downtown Sydney

Taxi drivers are uniformed, the cars are clean.  I am comforted by this.

the Shouting Man

Close in with expensive shops and highly motivated 1st Worlders (myself included) is the Shouting Man.  He shouts.  It’s loud.  It’s incomprehensible.  It sounds like gargling blood or maybe distorted reversed audio samples from 1930′s-era Looney Tunes sound effects.  I give him some coins.  How thin is the line that separates his act from mine?

sign on the street - Sydney

Let the revolution be a peaceful revolution.

it's a living...

I stop down a small flight of stairs to browse a tiny shop specializing in vintage and bootleg vinyl records.  Neville, swilling red wine in the early afternoon, declares he will open a bar adjacent to the back wall of this basement in a month or two, thereby combining two unstoppable cultural movements.  I ask whether the chicken or the egg…?  During our conversation it comes out what I am about and why I am here, in Sydney, Australia.  “I don’t like Joe Satriani,” he says.  “He’s a very nice man,” I say (thinking to myself: whimsical, too), “a musician first.”  His wine glass empty, he heads over to the counter.  I head out up into the open air.

Is the publisher's estimation of your character correct?

Knowing the power of words and thought to influence action I cannot help being taken aback when I see the popularity of this mean-spirited sentiment expressed through the wildly popular cultural activity of commerce.  It makes me sad.  You’re not an idiot, I’m not an idiot and I would never speak thus to a child.

gorgeous ceiling

I look up from the items on display and must immediately lie on the floor in a reverse, supine plank to get a photo of this beautiful stained glass ceiling.

you've got to watch for these...they'll tear your arm off.

Back on the street.  My wanderings are without plan, I’m looking at everything.

Christo was here.

Through a wide open door I slide into St. Mary’s Cathedral during a sparsely attended daytime service.  I lurk in the shadows, observing the rituals.

but how does it breathe?

I am intrigued by the carefully bound objects – statuary? – that populate the stage or “altar,” as they call the business end of this performance space.  It’s a fine line that separates their act from mine.

and the acoustics...

The structure is glorious and the Gregorian chanting puts me into a fugue state of celestial musical harmony.  I cautiously approach a priest behind the scenes while he tucks away his smoking incense device in a walkway below and away from the altar.  I quietly ask would he please tell me the significance of the purple coverings?  Looking at me with some alarm he fairly spits: “It’s the Passion,” continuing brusquely, “now please move away, the choir is coming.”  I look at him quickly, surprised at his vehemence, say nothing and move to the side.  It’s his show after all.  I’m a professional, too.  I crouch down to get a photo of the choir walking toward us and another robed character alongside the older priest calls to me: “Do not take pictures here!”  It’s too much.  I place the lens cap on my camera.  Striding quickly up to the older priest and planting myself inches from his face I say clearly and quietly directly into his eyes: “I’m terribly sorry and I shall stop right away.”  He looks away, backs away, opens the door to the refectory and slips inside.  His tight-lipped minion pinches off another order that I “stand aside” but by then I’m nowhere near them.  I watch as a robed coterie of healthy male teens on the cusp of adulthood stride by.  Maybe they’re in the “Embrace Youth” group advertised on the web site of this church encouraging an “active practice of our faith.”  It’s plain as day.

beliefs are useful if they help you

After the boys have turned from the hall into private chambers I notice the tight-lipped minion still carefully observing me.  I give him a big thumbs up.  Nice work mate, I think, how’s that Christian charity working out?  But I don’t speak my thoughts.  I turn my back on him and his “Belief System for Dummies” and wander outside, grateful for my freedom.  A statue of a nun expresses apology and offers forgiveness.  She knows what they’re up to in there.

Sister Mary Elephant

It’s my own fault of course.  I started it.  I head down to the water.

In sunlight by Sydney harbor

I wander among tourists in the sun, people on holiday, schoolchildren on outings, the hospitality trade, color and the warm air.

the good ship Southern Swan will take you on a three hour tour

It’s a glorious day and my pace slows and slows until I am passed on the sidewalk by grandmothers towing toddlers and pushing perambulators attached to inevitable balloons.

a group on the Sydney Harbor bridge tour

A carefully moving line of people high above street level is part of the Sydney Harbor bridge tour, an expensive and carefully marketed guided escort around the infrastructure of the 1932 bridge.  Couched in coy terms of gutsy, courageous exhortation, the branding is not unlike one of those hundred mile bike rides (“the danger!” “the accomplishment!” “the relief!” “the peak experience!”) benefiting medical research.  In a guerrilla action back in 1984 I climbed the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge with John Law.  I wish I still had the photos I took that night.

have you seen the bridge?

It’s almost time to meet the van taking us to the show tonight in Newcastle, two hours north of Sydney.  I head back to the hotel.

early Sydney

I pass by many buildings from the first days of Western civilization in Australia (the Fatal Shore).  It reminds a little me of New Orleans, LA, in the U.S.

modern Sydney

But now skyscrapers dominate the landscape.  It’s time for the show.

onto the fatal shore – Canberra, AU

With a heavy heart I pack up and join the posse to depart NZ for AU and eight more shows.  The people of New Zealand have been uniformly engaging, friendly and happy.  The unknown awaits.

Galen Henson makes a point

At the Auckland airport Galen Henson, our tour manager, guides us through the maze. He’s there every moment, watching, heading off disaster, keeping everything moving. Unfortunately he could not control the replacement of a valve in engine number three of our Boeing 747, necessitating a three hour sit on the ground, tucked into our numbered seats and reading quietly.  The repairs went smoothly and after a three hour flight we landed in Sydney, AU, walked onto a bus and drove for yet another three hours to Canberra, AU, the nation’s capitol. This purpose built urban settlement seemed benign enough when we arrived at 3am local time.  I had a room with windows I could open despite dire warnings of blood sucking multi-legged, mandibled, misbegotten creatures feeding off the liquids in my brain as I slept.  I woke at 6:30am to ghastly screeches and alien mating calls echoing in silent vastness.  It was the local birds.  Mentioning these sounds later to Joe he told me about calling hotel security on his first visit to this country because he heard someone surely being murdered across the street in the darkness.  The hotel guard politely asked him to describe the sound.  Joe did and the guard named the bird.  Okay, so I’m not in Kansas anymore, surely, but the Australian equivalent of the American heartland sounds like a Darwinian cesspit of cannibalistic brutality.  I sleep with the windows open anyway, trusting to my excellent luck so far.

Jose Baraquio (Jeff's drum tech) hacks away at a piece of the hi-hat

Sound check that afternoon goes long because we’re fine-tuning a new (to us) Australian equipment back line.  I get lucky, with a double stack of sweet hand-wired Ampeg SVT CLs which I encourage Jerry (our stage left tech) to wire together for maximum oomph.  Much of our crew have been here since 6:30am, working with the locals to get everything dialed in.

a local lighting rigger hanging upside down (seen from the stage)

We’re sound checking for an hour or more, which is rare for us.

Joe (L) and Steve field questions

After sound checks at every show Joe and Steve do a meet and greet for fans that want (and are willing to pay for) more than a live performance.  Here attendees ask questions (“do you look at the neck when you play?” “what do you think about when you’re practicing?” “is there love in space?” “was the Zappa song about the ‘spanking’ a metaphor?”) which are handled deftly by the two.  Participants also bring their guitars to be signed.  Instruments with cases and without (some very expensive) litter the floor. The chemistry between Joe and Steve and their ability to be kind, engaging and funny with the questions and each other endears them to the crowd.

Renee Jones at soundcheck

Meanwhile, the endless sound check continues.  Steve Lukather whips the crew into shape, carefully going over everything twice.  We’ve all been burned before so no one can begrudge him this.

Philip Bynoe's arsenal

Eric Valentine goes for the Pink

Jeff Campitelli and Eric Valentine use different drum kits, provided by the manufacturer and set up on a low riser with casters for speedy set changes.  Jeff always gets DW sets (this leg of the tour his set is a tasteful black pearl) and Eric is provided with Yamaha kits.  I remark upon the cool purple color of Eric’s shells but he merely grins, offering that I’m kind to be so polite.  To him and the crew it’s pink drums.  Merciless ribbing, punning and outright slagging ensues.

ready for anything and in any color scheme

build it up, tear it down

I am continuously fascinated by the behind the scenes mechanics of creating a show.  To my mind this is a daily miracle.

Jeff Campitelli knows a leg warmer when he sees one

We typically have white athletic socks on the show rider but these are unique.  Having never needed socks that can be pulled high on the thigh we speculate how they are worn.  Added bonus: they’re “technical”.

the sock question answered - how it's done here

The show goes well, not a sellout but close enough so as to make no odds.  Directly after we are finished in Canberra we’re hustled into a bus for the three hour trip back to Sydney.  On the bus ride Luke tells us a story of working with Miles Davis.  Standing in the aisle of the moving bus, adopting the iconic musician’s body language and imitating his voice, we are rapt.  Blinding rain pummels the vehicle and a detour gets the driver’s blood boiling to a point where our final leg into Sydney city center is conducted at speed.  He drives the twenty ton bus like an Alfa Romeo GTV, slinging around corners and hustling down side streets.  We arrive intact.  The next day in Sydney is a day off.  I walk around in the humidity, the rain breaking up into sunshine and I learn (see photo above) how those technical socks are intended to be worn.

one night only!!!

In a music store in downtown Sydney I see the Satchurated live performance poster displayed prominently and my name up there with my fellow bandmates, too.  I like how my job description is not pluralized.

2nd show – Auckland, NZ

After last night’s warm reception but questionable onstage sound we’re ready for a change for the better.  Up and over the mountains we fly on another Air New Zealand flight with charming employees displaying personality, wit and a sense of self-worth.

you know you've arrived when...

Leafing through the in flight magazine Mick Brigden notices a mention of the tour.  We’re all sitting together on the aircraft and of course our noise attracts the attention of the flight attendants.  One, in particular, points out to Luke that (to her at least) he looks like Billy Joel.  They harangue each other good-naturedly for awhile and she ends up name checking him on the mic at landing.  Luke launches into “Piano Man” loud enough for all to hear and she replies (still on the mic): “don’t stop!” Luke’s response, still loud in the cabin: “…that’s what you always say!” General hilarity ensues and continues, Luke leading the way.

On the shuttle to Auckland from the airport Joe requests the radio be turned up as “Africa” from Toto’s fourth album blasts out of the speakers.  Luke cringes but relaxes when Vai explains how much Frank (Zappa) loved the band and used to have those songs played over the P.A. system before some of his shows.  Luke is touched, never having heard this tidbit before.  He responds with some stories about how many hands were required to mix all 72 tracks of the song slaved from three separate 24 track machines, this in the days before automation.

pick a card...

Mick spreads passports out in a fan.  Efficiency is the key when traveling with a large group.  In our case it’s simply avoiding at all costs the 13-headed dog effect, with everyone wandering off in different directions.  Luckily everyone has spent enough time on the road.  “It’s not my first rodeo,” a crew member points out.

you know what to do

Our hotel in Auckland would like us to do as they suggest.

now these people know their target demographic

At the venue in Auckland the dressing rooms are supplied with various food and drink, including this interestingly named cereal.

yeah...we got this. (L to R) Philip Bynoe (Vai), Renee Jones (Lukather), Allen Whitman (Satriani)

Backstage just after Luke’s set and before Vai’s, the Bass Fundament gathers.  We have a quorum.

pity the poor monitor mixer

During Vai’s set, a view from stage left. Davros, our monitor mixer, keeps tabs on signal.

Mr. Chocolate lays into it

Sometimes when the shutter goes off the lighting cue cooperates in an odd way.  Here Eric Valentine is blasting away during the Vai set in what looks like house lighting.

Rubina records an affecting moment

But while Steve Vai and his band are shredding the Universal Sine Wave Luke and Joe adopt a fetching pose backstage.

The show is sold out and the crowd is very enthusiastic.  Everybody feels much more comfortable, relaxed and ready for Australia.