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At 3:00 AM, Monday, December 23, only five hours after the last downbeat of our 28th show of the tour, Steve Vai's bus left Washington, D.C., headed for various area hotels and airports. On board was every single member of the tour entourage (including Ed and Toss) save one--me. I hopped right back in the Expo and drove straight back to Westfield, NJ. Dancing in my head were visions of lying on a couch for five days straight while my mother spoonfed me some really good Szechuan-style Chinese food. By 8:00 AM, I was home. I finally fell asleep at noon, at which point my status as a narcoleptic zombie was confirmed for the remainder of my stay at home.
Five days and many strange sleeping hours later, I waved a longing goodbye to my family and said a weary, familiar hello to the Expo. That Expo and I were best friends for the next three days, during which I drove the entire width of the country. That's right--3,000 miles in three days, an average of 1,000 miles a day. I slept in Nashville, TN on the first night, Amarillo, TX the second night (that second day's drive took me within spitting distance of The Diamond Ballroom in Oklahoma City, an unintended consequence of the route I chose), and Los Angeles the third night. I suppose you could say my tolerances for both drinking and driving went way up on this tour. But, truth be told, those three days were really therapeutic and special for me. There's something about the desert Southwest that brings this New Jersey boy to a mental state that could only be described as spiritual.
And that was it. I was home. Back to answering e-mail, smoggy air, the sexpot roomate, kikes, dykes, and one hell of a Life Of Bryan in my head. What now, you ask? You got me. I promised myself that I'd give myself a break for the month of January. Instead, I spent the better part of two weeks answering e-mail, returning phone calls, and writing my labor of love, the LOB. Now I believe I'll take that break. Sometime after the NAMM show (which, for the first year since I moved to LA, I'll be attending only as a spectator--no playing this time) I'll get my head together and figure out what the hell I'm gonna do for money. In the meantime, I hope to be able to resume working on that book I haven't had time to think about since before the days of ICM and fucking right the fuck off.
Toss Panos is already in Europe, touring with his jazz project Waternoise. He left during the first week of January. The only word that comes to my mind is "insane."
Mike Keneally leaves for Asia and Australia with Steve Vai on January 19th. We actually got together with Joe Travers on the 8th and recorded some stuff for the next Keneally studio album. I'm still in awe of his writing abilities. As they say, if I could write music like that, I'd never leave the house.
No one's really sure what happened to Ed after the tour.
And now, thanks are due to: Scott Chatfield. While we were away, he turned our website into a truly interactive forum on the Half Alive In Hollywood Tour. Phone calls became RealAudio files. Concert reviews became the KeneallyKoncertKopia (reading those reviews made me very, very appreciative of the level of intelligence of the average Moosenet reader--you all made me proud [sniff]). Postcards became internet updates. Our tour dates were dead-on accurate (unlike those of, say, some other guitarist's web page). All of this was done on his own accord while he was busy switching jobs and basically as busy as ten normal people. Without Scott, The Life Of Bryan doesn't exist, the Mike Keneally Page doesn't exist, and you don't even know that I like to cross-dress. Scott Chatfield--we salute you.
Martha Lawrence. She listened to countless hours of me bitching about this and that and never once told me to shut up like she should have. Without her help and guidance, I might have just gone and driven the Expo off of a cliff.
Ed Lucas. Ed, You made it home alive. What else can I say?
Toss Panos. This touring veteran had to deal with me being his tour manager for five weeks. He deserves praise for not killing me. And, by the way, on behalf of all of the readers of the LOB: "Thanks, Toss."...for the brilliant musical experience.
Steve Vai. Without Vai, there is no tour. That's all you need to know. Mr. Vai, thanks for taking a chance on BFD. Wish we were going with you all over the world.
And, of course, Keneally. Words can't describe, so I won't even try.
Wait a minute--I forgot to thank someone. You. Can't wait to see you again. Until then, I'll just have to live with my memories of the road we traveled together, and look forward to the new year. Who knows what 1997 will be the year of?
That's it. I'm all out of inspirational, clever endings. This'll have to do. I hope you enjoy reading this page as much as I do writing it. If so, then we're all happy folks.
Love and fond memories,
The Bassboy Number Sixty-Nine
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