Issue #8: "Concert Stories Part I"

Well, the Alice Cooper book is finally out to the publisher. I can now concentrate on getting my monthly articles and the novel back on track. Thanks to everyone that has written asking when my material would be appearing again, I appreciate the response. I am going to try to keep on top of the novel in particular so that everyone can have a weekly fix of it from now until it is finished.

Another KISS tour is upon us and thinking about the upcoming tour got me to thinking about some experiences I have had at some shows. Everyone has their "road stories" and I thought I would share a few with readers. These stories go some ways back, so bear with me down this nostalgic road. I have a few more than these, and I will print some more in future articles if there's enough interest. So, let me know what you think!

1) How NOT to get a guitar-pick from the band.

CREATURES Tour, 1983. Went with a few friends to see the show in Dayton, Ohio. As everyone knows that has been in the first couple of rows at a KISS show, the guitarists in the band tend to throw guitar-picks into the crowd frequently. This usually leads to many pink, wavy arms slamming into your head if a pick comes your way.

During the show, Gene threw a couple of picks near where my friend, Larry, and I were standing. One landed at Larry's feet and he stepped on it while everyone clamored to find the lucky souvenirs. Someone found one, but a couple of people kept looking for the other.

I decide to wait patiently and then tell Larry to move his foot so I could claim the pick. As each people kept looking, I grew anxious as any move by Larry would reveal the pick under his shoe.

Finally, everyone gave up and moved on. After a few moments, Larry lift his foot to reveal the pick. I leaned down to grab it and immediately rammed my nose into Larry's head as he also attempted to pick it up. He grabbed the pick and stood up, rubbing his head.

"What the heck were you doing." He asked above the noise.

"You had a pick under your shoe and I thought you hadn't seen it, so I was trying to grab it," I said, trying to keep my nose from bleeding.

"Of course I saw it! That's why I covered it up with my shoe, so I would have a chance to get it later."

"Oh." So, Larry ended up with a Gene pick and I ended up with a damaged nose.

2) How to get picked up by groupies.

Going to the shows in the 1980s, I would sometimes wear a suit. The reason for this was due to the nature of the business of rock and roll. If you want to impress the people who are running things at the show, you can't do it by wearing your KISS T-shirt and your KISS belt buckle. They'll just think you're a fanatic trying to weasel your way backstage.

So you have to find a different approach to weasel your way backstage.

Therefore -- THE SUIT. It worked pretty well in many cases because it looked exactly as I intended it to be: out-of-place. People tend to look at the person in a suit at a rock show as either, A) working for the band; or, B) working for the arena. Either way, security and arena personnel (at least at the time) normally left you alone, figuring you to be someone who belonged there.

Mind you, it didn't get you backstage automatically. You still had to get a pass. But after that, it did give you a certain amount of freedom that a guy in a rock T-shirt didn't have. I was able to walk around backstage at some shows without any questions being asked once I had a pass slapped on my suit.

At one show in Dayton, Ohio, I had worn the suit and gotten a photo-pass for the show (which leads into the final story here, but more about that later). The pass, however, was from the arena itself and did nothing to get me backstage.

One thing the suit DID achieve was getting me noticed by fans, who -- figuring I worked for the band -- kept asking me for passes.

"No, I can't help you. I'm trying to get a pass myself. I wish I had a pass, etc., etc." That was my response to everyone that kept bugging me. At first it was a bit of fun, but after awhile I got tired of it.

During a latter part of the show, and after about twenty requests for passes, I was wandering through the halls of the arena to get a coke. Suddenly these two blond high-school girls cornered me.

"Oh," one said, "can you get us backstage?"

"No, I --" I started to respond.

"Oh, please give us passes," the other one pleaded. "We'll do anything to get backstage."

"Really, I can't --"

I stopped. Suddenly the lightbulb went off inside my head. Certain images went through my head as well, but enough about that.

Still, I couldn't do that to someone. Call me a gentleman. Call me stupid. Whatever. But I just couldn't go that route.

I could have some fun, though. So, using my best FATHER KNOWS BEST voice, I began speaking to the girls.

"Oh, I'm sorry, girls. Those passes are only for people working with the show. I can't help you."

"Oh, please! Please!"

"No, it just wouldn't be fair to the other fans here," I started walking away as I straighten my tie. "Hope you enjoy the show, anyway!"

So, while I didn't get backstage that night, I did have a bit of fun.

THE SUIT -- ask for it by name.

3) And speaking of groupies . . .

Any fan that has gotten a chance to go backstage will quickly find that groupies are the lowest form of life on the planet. Nothing quicker to make your heart turn black against them than spending at least 30 seconds backstage with one nearby. Within that space of time, they will have already glanced at you and deduced that you cannot help them in any way, so therefore you are not only scum, but that you are ruining their night by breathing the same air as they.

They tend to huddle together in one corner of the room like a group of chickens and give anyone other than the members of the headlining act the most godawful disgusted look they possibly can. That includes everyone else: fans, managers, Roadies, the opening act, sometimes every certain members of the headlining act. Most important, they all have the same thought in their head: "When the HELL is someone going to freshen my drink! I'm important, dammit!" The only other type of groupie you will see backstage are the ones that are slumped over and have a vacate stare on their faces -- like living party-dolls. Being backstage with them is worse than being backstage with W.A.S.P.

But that's another story for another time.

Anyway, back to our story.

ASYLUM tour, Indianapolis. We had gone backstage and spent time talking to Bruce and his girlfriend (who is now apart of the BOB & TOM Radio Show in Indianapolis, oddly enough). Paul had come out a couple of times, briefly, and Eric had appeared for a short time as well. No Gene, however.

One person backstage that everyone had noted, however, was a groupie who kept asking when Gene was going to get there. She was not only noteworthy because of her constant nagging to Paul, Eric, Roadies and everyone else on the whereabouts of Gene, but because she kept exposing her breasts to anyone that came near who she thought was important. It was shocking not only because she was exposing herself, but because of what she had done to herself. It was 1986, after all, and pierced body parts were still a wave of the future at the time, but -- to put it politely -- she had them pierced and she was ahead of her time.

She was pushy, rude and refused to talk to the fans that were backstage. She also had a pair of her underwear that she just had to give Gene.

About a half-hour later, a figure brushed past me. I turned to see that it was Gene, dressed in a leather jacket, suit and carrying a briefcase in his hand.

He came in with another gentleman in a suit and everyone seemed so stunned that no one advanced upon him. He just walked smoothly across the room and toward the dressing room area.

Just before he got there, the groupie came up and wrapped herself around his leg.

Gene ignored it. He just kept on walking with this woman around his leg. Finally, he stopped and asked her to get up. She did and began talking and talking at a bored Gene. She then pulled out her underwear and handed it to Gene.

Gene took the underwear and held them up to the light as if inspecting them. He then looked back down at the woman.

Reaching toward her, he quickly pulled the underwear over her head, turned her around, pushed her away and walked into the dressing room without even a backward glance.

The look of stunned disappointment on her face was worth the price of admission.

4) How to screw up a Roadie's good time.

Same show in Indy during the ASYLUM tour. The passes we had were good for after-show as well, and we decided to head to the backstage area to see what would be going on -- knowing full-well that the band normally went directly to the hotel after the shows. Without the band present, there would be no point in going backstage.

Roadies, knowing this, had made a habit of handing out "after-show" passes to people left and right. Since the passes where only allowed to be used after the show, and since no one would be backstage anyway, it was a cool freebie that did not hurt anyone. Some Roadies used it, however, to get sexual favors from girls that did not know any better.

Which was the case in Indy. As we were standing at the backstage door (they refused to allow anyone backstage yet at that point), a Roadie standing outside the door was trying to talk two 14-year-Olds to do something for him to get the passes. Frankly, it just made me mad that he was trying to dupe these girls in this manner. As I listen to him go on and on about the passes, I could see past his shoulder and into the backstage area.

There in the backstage area was Gene, Paul, Eric and Bruce walking quickly to a limo that had its engine running. They got in and the limo took off. The Roadie and the girls had missed this.

In a loud voice, I said, "Well, the band's GONE! They JUST LEFT! The limo JUST DROVE AWAY WITH THEM!"

The two girls turned, looked at me and then, with sadness in their eyes, walked away.

The Roadie, on the other hand, certainly did not look at me with sadness in his eyes.

Come to think about, this really was a good show experience altogether that night.

5) How to have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and screw it up.

During ANIMALIZE and ASYLUM I was able to get photo-passes from Hara Arena in Dayton, Ohio for the shows (this was during the STRANGE WAYS days). The photo-passes had to be obtained at the arena's office so I got to walk right into the place while everyone waited in line and pick up my ticket and pass. I have to admit that it was a cool feeling to do something like that, although all it was was a photo-pass.

Then it got better.

The first time I did this was at the ANIMALIZE show in Dayton. After talking to a representative in the office (and hearing a person with the band trying to set up a late-night dinner appointment for Paul at a hotel in downtown Dayton), I was given the pass. When I asked where I should go, she told me just to go inside and find a place to sit.

Heading in, I could hear some people on stage performing "Manic Depression" as I climbed the stairs to the press-box. Arriving there I found the band on stage performing the song.

I sat there for a few minutes as they performed and it suddenly occurred to me that I had brought my camera with me.

The band, at that point, had never been photographed often while going through the soundcheck. Now, here they were in front of me -- in their day-to-day clothes, practicing.

What would you do?

So, I started snapping away. The band stayed on stage for about five more minutes before packing it up and heading to the backstage area, but I continued to shoot as they walked down the ramp. No one seemed to notice me so I just kept shooting, every second wondering if I were going to get thrown out for taking pictures when I really should not have been.

The last one to leave the stage was Gene, who was not only really a suit jacket, but still had his hair cropped short from the RUNAWAY film. He grabbed a scarf, put it around his neck and started down the ramp.

At the very end of the ramp, he stopped, turned to face me and grinned one of the meanest smiles I had ever seen.

He then left.

After the show, I was telling my friends about the photos I shot and couldn't wait to see what they looked like once they came back from the photo-mat.

A day later I got them. Every shot was dark, grainy and hard-to-make-out. Of the group only five were even good enough to see who the people were. It was then that it occurred to me that I had set-up the camera to shoot during the show itself, and had allowed too much light into the camera when they were rehearsing (because all of the lights in the arena were on). I had been so excited about taking the pictures that I had forgotten about the camera setting.

It was either that, or Gene had a way to over-expose film with just his smile alone.

The next year, I was able to recreate the experience at Hara, but again, the camera screwed up on me and I was only able to get a couple of photos of the band on stage. This time, however, at least one could make out who everyone was. After that, however, it was decided to get the camera out of my hands and to have me stick to the writing.

So Gene destroyed my photography career and I had to move on to writing. I hope he's happy.

Until next time,

Dale Sherman

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