When
I was a little girl, I wanted to be just like Olivia Newton-John.
I thought her name was weird, but her hair feathered like
a dream, even when she was riding on the backs of dolphins.
She was a singer. A force of nature in tight pants. In the
80's, sources revealed she didn't even have to style her hair;
she just woke up that way. Here I am a number of years later,
and my dream has come true. I'm a singer just like Olivia—only
I cut my own hair, don't know John Travolta that well, and
don't ride dolphins. Dolphin riding is reserved for reality
stars like Jessica Simpson, or, as my best friend calls her,
Rotisicca Chicken. (That wasn't fair, I know. She can't help
her natural tan. She just wakes up that way.) Anyway, now
that I think about it, maybe Jessica is more like Olivia,
and I'm a bit more like...Lisa Simpson (except I play the
trumpet, which is even nerdier than playing the sax). That's
okay. I'm still going to put out records. And given the fact
that I wear more than a bra in my videos, I'm betting that
the majority of my records are going to be independent.
Making an independent record is good fun. You hide in a room,
tapping down songs with tireless drive. You drink too much,
you smoke too much, you argue with everyone and take too many
breaks. You buy a pet (a mouse, hamster, or worst-case scenario:
a puppy) because your friends are starting to hate you. You
vow to quit the industry forever, and then find yourself back
in the studio the very next day. All of this drama is typical,
but the rewards are great. You finish. There's a good chance
you hate a fair portion of your record, but you've finished
it! You can now go back to playing with your friends because
it's time to go on tour. Unless, of course, you lost a band
member or two during the recording process. In this case,
its time to hold auditions, and then go on tour.
I've done some touring this year throughout the UK and Europe,
and in hindsight, its hard to remember the bad things. I guess
that's what keeps musicians going back on tour. Some sort
of selective amnesia occurs and blocks out how you got stopped
at all borders and got searched for drugs. Speaking of crossing
borders, here are some helpful tips: Helpful tip #1: When
touring on a sleeper bus, sleep in your coat. That way, when
the drug dogs come on, jump in your bunk, and drag you outside
at 4:00 AM in the cold, you will be ready for it. Helpful
tip #2: When touring in a sleeper bus, it helps if the bus
isn't painted with a slogan saying "Rock and Roll Coaches."
This sort of display will almost ensure a stop by people searching
for drugs at every turn. Even Germans understand the words
"rock and roll." But then again, Germans are going
to stop you no matter what, so... Helpful tip #3: The people
searching you for drugs probably do speak English, but it's
no good speaking to them because they will pretend they don't.
You are best just standing there and waiting. No good pulling
faces, pointing, or shouting at them, either. They don't like
that.
A typical tour doesn't really exist. They are as varied as
snowflakes, except when, oddly, at 9:00 PM every night, everyone
stares at you for about an hour and a half. Tours can be good
or bad, long or short. Sometimes you meet your soul-mate on
tour, and sometimes you meet your stalker. Sometimes you are
lucky enough to have a High-Spectum Tour, or HST. An HST means
lush hotels and a late sleep-in. It means your dinner is catered
and your M&Ms are separated by color, just like you've
requested. Your tour manager is a pro. You waltz in with someone
else carrying your gear. Your suitcase is being delivered
directly to the hotel. You find that your dressing room stocked
with fresh flowers and your favorite beer. HSTs were common
for most artists in the good ol' days, but today, they happen
not so much. Most artists will find themselves at one time
or another on a Low-Spectrum Tour, or LST. On an LST, you
pay a quid for a shower at the service station and change
in the bar bathroom while standing on...uh, you know...in
your stocking feet. You're often late leaving the city, then
hit traffic and get lost on the way to the next city, only
to arrive and find that you've missed sound-check, doors open
in five minutes, and, "Oh yeah," the sound-guy says,
"there really isn't anything open around here as far
as food goes." So you quickly unload your gear yourself.
"Is this a secure area?", you ask the barman. He
shrugs. You find a place to hide and change your strings.
LST-ing is tough. Being on an LST is camping in high heels.
But tons of people do it. Why? Because of the carrot on the
stick—the idea of the mythical HST dangling before them
like a mirage in the desert.
How do LST-ers know about all the glory of the HST? Simple.
It has to do with the "incline-decline effect,"
or IDE. The IDE is a phenomenon that is easy to understand.
It goes like this: You start out playing open mics, and aren't
even on an LST yet. Then, you get a few little shows with
a long bill. You are now LST-ing. This is an incline. Then,
suddenly you are offered your first support date. It's for
a band everybody knows. You are going to Wembley. This
is a big incline. You've just started out, but you've landed
your ass right in the middle of the HST! You almost skipped
the LST entirely! You have security, and someone to tune your
guitar while you see how many M&Ms you can actually fit
into your mouth at once. Beware, however. You can do HST-ing
on the coat-tails of Meatloaf and Jethro Tull for a while,
but the time will come for you to go back out on your own,
and you will be back down there in LST-ville again. That's
the IDE. You will remember the HST well. You've tasted it.
And once you have, you can never stop going for it. You LST-ing
for as long as it takes. And when you are loading gear at
3:00 AM, and a little hungry voice straining from somewhere
under an amp, offers a crouton of hope to the others, saying,
"Hey guys, someday we'll have a crew!", you think,
yeah, and a shower, and keep on going.
Click here
to visit Stephanie Dosen's website.
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