ted at Eightth and New royal customer of "Carlos".
are entering the scene than Big Daddy's. Many new graphic design and fine arts ability to the industry. He says number, we can expect to see in skin.
to leave the tattoo shop, my goo and encased in plastic relief. I've marked my body, have a tattoo to remind me moment. It is a permanent
lfoskey@kansan.com
Photo by Kit Leffler
Going backstage at concerts isn't always as cool as it might seem
By Mandy Hendrix Jayplay writer
I'M THE BAND
After the band has unloaded their equipment from their van, I ask to see the backstage. Every member of Distance To Empty tells me that he has never been backstage at The Bottleneck. They prefer to hang out in one of the booths and listen to the other bands playing that night, says Kyle Akers, Distance To Empty bassist and Prairie Village senior. I'm already beginning to wonder if the famed backstage pass is as exclusive as it's made out to be.
It's one of the most elusive places at any concert. Cut off to the public by beefy security men, the backstage is surrounded with mystery. Rabid fans will do almost anything to get there. The more reserved only dream about the experience. But are the backstage activities really worth all the fuss?
To find out, I decided to hang out with the local band Distance To Empty during one of its shows at The Bottleneck to figure out the allure of the backstage. These guys have been around for three years and have played many shows in Kansas and toured throughout the Midwest. The music scene here in Lawrence is friendly, welcoming and much different than in a larger city. Local bands dominate in Lawrence and play small venues such as the Bottleneck and the Granada. Distance To Empty decided to let me in on some of the secrets of off-stage action at the local level.
Touring across several states, Distance To Empty has found that the backstage — or green room — changes little from venue to venue. "It's like they [the venue] find the nastiest room and turn it into the green room," Akers says. "They think, 'Okay, you can hang out here and drink beer.'" He remembers hearing stories of the haunted backstage at the Bone, a music venue in St. Joseph, Mo. There was
Kris Kennedy, a member of the hip-hop group Crux, has a different pre-show routine. Kennedy, Overland Park junior, mentally runs through the show and then clears his mind. He does this for about four hours before the show starts, but with a half an hour until he goes onstage, Kennedy does what he calls "the rain man." He mouths the words to his songs as fast as he can, then dances around a little bit.
At the Bottleneck I'm led upstairs to a tiny room thick with cigarette smoke and graffiti decorated walls — not quite how I envisioned the "backstage." The carpet is soiled and in need of a vacuuming, the makeshift bathroom has newspapers and grime all over the toilet and the chairs lining the wall have exposed padding. Sitting on a table in this filthy room, there is a vase with blooming pink flowers.
band in the green room smoking marijuana and suddenly the numbers on the clock started spinning and the cash register drawer flew open, Akers says.
This isn't the way you would picture the backstage at larger, national shows. It's not like these guys have someone attending to their every need. Request lists? Nope. These bands are lucky to be playing a venue; they can't afford to be obnoxious. At the Bottleneck, there isn't even a person guarding the backstage door. Dur-
While I'm up here at The Bottleneck, members of other bands tread up the narrow, steep stairs to sit on the large bench and talk with one another. The bands Distance To Empty and Aubrey decide to leave their mark by scribbling their names on the ceiling, but all they have is a pen. The effect isn't quite the same as the hot pink "I love pussy" spray painted on the wall.
Tonight the only girls hanging around the band are friends, but Distance To Empty has been propositioned with sexual requests before. At a show in Wichita, Bo
McCall, guitarist for the band and Lenexa resident, tells me that some girls came up to the group after the show to invite them to an怒. The band declined, but was thrilled to have gotten the offer. "At that point, we were like 'Yeah, we're a real band now,'" McCall says.
The behind the scenes action is not quite the image of sex, drugs n' rock and roll that I had imagined. Be backstage wasn't as exciting as it's hyped up to be. I didn't see any bonuses or perks that night. I realized that the best place at a concert isn't the backstage, but next to the stage enjoying the music.
Contact writer at:
mhendrix@kansan.com
04.28.05 Jayplay
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