Rock Accountant

Month: September, 2015

Genesis # 7 Rock’s Most embarrassing Moment

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I was the tour manager for Genesis during the years that Peter Gabriel was with them. I was also largely responsible for what was arguably rock’s most embarrassing moment.

This was how the show’s climax had been planned and rehearsed so long ago.

Peter Gabriel, would be dressed in his “Gods of Magog” outfit, consisting of a long velvet black cape and a giant triangular headpiece. Through this helmet, only his green iridescent eyes pierced through because of the black light that ran along the lip of the stage.

The show would routinely finish with him throwing off his hat and cape revealing himself in a silver jumpsuit. He was made invisible to the audience during this transition by controlled explosions coming from metal pods on the front of the stage.

The flash and concussion would temporarily blind and daze the audience.

These canisters were filled with a martini of flash and gunpowder. They would be criminally outlawed today, whereas back then they were simply banned. We never told anyone we were going to do it. One of our roadies, Goeff Banks, filled them a couple of hours before the show and would set them off electrically at the right moment.

This incident took place somewhere between 1973 and 1975 either in Cleveland, Ohio or in Berlin, Germany. Believe me, in my world, this is terrific accuracy. Someone prophetically had the inspiration to “fly” Peter into the air while the audience was blinded, (This was most likely Peter himself).

He was to be “shot,” (hoisted) fifteen feet into the air by nearly invisible thin metal wires, “ called flying” in those days. He would finish the song, floating in a silver jumpsuit, as the front curtain closed, end of the show. Nice.

Gabriel was to be further concealed by smoke machines (they looked like leaf blowers) and an intense fog that bubbled up by dumping huge blocks of dry ice, by hand (gloved), into immense buckets of water by the crew from behind the speaker stage bins. They would explode with vapor, filling, if the prevailing winds permitted, the entire stage.

Here’s how the “flying” was to work. I had brought in an “expert” who had flown Elton John and his piano into the air a few months earlier. This guy was harnessed to the wires which were connected over the truss to Gabriel. The guy climbed to the top of a tall ladder on stage left, out of sight and waited. On my cue, he would leap off the ladder and because he was the counterbalance, up our artist would go. I did the cueing only because I had no other real job, having finished my very important job of literally running around hallways closing doors so no breeze would alter the course of our stage fog.

I sweated the cue because if I got it wrong, Peter would be mid-song and everything else would fall to shit.

Well, I thought I nailed the fucker, but I was maybe a second too soon and all hell broke loose. Peter went up fast and sadly, crookedly. His left shoulder was at least a foot and a half higher than his right. In his surprise, he dropped his live microphone launching it forward, onto the stage where it rolled into the explosions from the gunpowder pods, sending the blast sound  into the giant audience speakers permanently deafening Lord knows how many of the punters who had the misfortune to have been standing near them.

Meanwhile, some asshole had clearly opened an outside door so all my smoke was blowing backward towards the dressing rooms leaving the mayhem clearly visible.

The flash pods, ( we were later to learn from the fire dept.) had been way overloaded thereby becoming perhaps the first incident of actual cannon fire ever, during a show, in the history of rock.

Peter’s mic sound, as my luck would have it, also went through the band’s stage speakers. Tony Banks, the keyboardist, I saw out of the corner of my now tearing eyes, was in the center of the stage hitting Geoff, the explosion roadie, over the head with a tambourine, screaming “I am deaf, you made me deaf”. All this was happening within a nightmare zone of about ten seconds.

So let me recap, seeing as we both have come this far. I have Gabriel nearly horizontal, fifteen feet in the air, with no microphone and a black cape dangling from his foot. I have the keyboardist pounding a roadie as the poor fucker is desperately trying to extinguish the residue flames still pouring from his canisters. I have an audience in a state of deaf mass trauma and I have smoke filling up the dressing rooms. So what was the absolute last thing this God could think of to do with me? The front curtain would not close.

In my mind’s eye, even today, this was not a tidy episode. To their credit and my forever resentment, most of the audience hung around to watch us try to get Peter down. It took such a long time.
Regis Boff (from his blog early 2013) – used with permission.

(Steve Hackett confirmed it was 19.2.75, The Ekeberghallen, Oslo, Norway!)

In the 1991 Documentary Genesis A History where Tony, Mike and Phil remembered it differently with Phil Collins saying “I turned around to the tour manager and said YOUR FIRED! “

Genesis Stage Designer: Ian Knight

Ian Knight died not so long ago.
I never miss people.
He was a British rock stage designer.
He showed up to design for Genesis around the same time that Peter began cutting a racing stripe in the middle of his head.
Ian combed all his hair to a point on his forehead, wore a cape, and dressed in black. He was about five feet tall.
He built the set for the band every afternoon for six years.
In Belgium, be thought it would be smart to make it in the hallway, where it was quieter only to find it would not go back through the doors. They did the show without it. Ian was not a forward thinker.
After Genesis, he went on to Led Zeppelin and Rod Stewart.
Between 1966 and 1971, he staged concerts at the Roundhouse for Jimmy Hendrix, Country Joe and the Fish, the Doors, Jefferson Airplane, the Rolling Stones, and Elton John.
Ian did the first installations of theater productions on cruise ships. In 1981, he worked on Ronald Reagan’s inaugural ball as US president.
Two decades later, I hired him to do my country shows.
Ian could be honest with artists. It was a flaw. I screamed at him more than once about this. Ian could take a punch.
He got into an argument with the Pointer Sisters’ manager over camera distances. Ian wanted the girls shot mostly at a wide-angle with few close-ups.
The manager charged to know why? Ian turned to the guy and said, “Because your fucking girls are ugly.”
He and I traveled to Japan and Thailand and had our lives altered.
Ian wanted to go further North into Cambodia.
I was afraid to come.
He eventually married a Thai woman named Ngeon Khprjunklang and had a son Alistair.
He had married two Thai women in all, but the first girl did not work out. They had a mushroom farm together in Cambodia, but her mother proved to be too annoying.
I still don’t miss him.

Pets by the Window

Do memories, cast loose by a lifetime’s end, wait bewildered  for us to come home?

Like pets, uneasy at windows?


The First Time

I love to think about the first time things ever happened. I have seen I think very few. I saw the first time mankind landed on the moon. Someone must have been around the first time words were put to music too. I wasn’t available for that.

I was certainly present at my first kiss. I may have been there to see the first kiss for some girls. But men can’t really be sure.

I have witnessed the first death of loved ones. But that is sort of an odd category, I think.

I have been there for two births. And one first step.


Laws never inconvenience the people who think of them.


The Rebroken Leg

If you break a leg and it sets improperly, it must be rebroken to set it right again. John Boehner’s retirement offers this opportunity. It might shut down the government. The Democrats believe this act will elect them and the Republicans are so angry they won’t care.
Our citizens need to be rebroken. We need to reset our loyalties.
The Republicans have become a dreadful alloy of people who always pay their bills on time but insist, like swine, that women are less precious than every man’s sperm.
The Democrats live in a soap opera universe where jealousy and retaliation are the only indispensable currencies. They insist that their Hitlerian social Eugenics will eventually tame the hideous human spirit. All they ever need is more time and more money for their goodness, decency only they possess.
Trump is proof that we all can live without our media and our political parties. Hillary is evidence that her sour odor is the only thing genuine about her. Sanders is confirmation that there are poor people and that we should listen to them.
Biden, well, he is a nice guy, and like his President will bide his time in office luxuriating in the wonder of his dreams finally coming true.


Glacial Speed to a Child

I am closer to the last Ice Age than most of you. It scared the shit out of me as a kid. Even while I slept, it was coming after me relentlessly. I knew it would eventually crush our family’s 1956 Chevy and mash our dimwit of a family dog. Glacial speed is fast to a child. I knew where my fur hooded coat and my galoshes ( bet you haven’t heard that word for a while) were, even in the summertime.
I am encouraged to fear the warm now. But I can’t. I am of an age that sleeps better when my bones aren’t being crushed by ice.


Rock’s Greatest Venues #1

There is no gentler manner to make money in the music business than by managing a performer who needs only a chair, a guitar and her voice.
I am Irish. I believe that there exists an impaired ethnic brotherhood of the prideful in the world. I think the Japanese fall into this category. These fuckers will stab themselves in the stomach if they get too disgraced. Arabs seem to belong here too. They are perpetually over -heated about some slight or other. We all know how atomic Italians can be.
Working for Melanie as an entry level gopher tested my self-image. It was not her doing. She could not have been nicer. I was just young and mistakenly thought everybody should give a shit about my dignity. They did not.
One of my jobs was particularly galling. She played venues of around one to six thousand seats. These are the loveliest auditoriums everywhere in the world. They are old theaters or small symphony halls and are typically intensely ornate and always have a certain fragrance. They smell of art.

She played a venue in Pittsburgh, my hometown, called The Syria Mosque in 1972. This building was originally a “mystical” shrine for the Ancient Arabic Order of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine (the Shriners). Most likely every band that ever toured played it at least once. Frederico Caruso played it in 1920, John Phillips Sousa in ’24, Buddy Holly, four times between ’57 and ’58, Bob Dylan in ’66. The Who in 1969 ( before me), Genesis 74, 75 and 76 ( with me).
To come back home working for someone performing at The Syria Mosque was a very big deal for my family and me.  I think my mother expected me to sing.

The side of the stage that faces the audience is called the “fourth wall.” The phrase “breaking the fourth wall” refers to when a performer addresses the audience directly as part of the dramatic production, (Kevin Spacey in House of Cards). The expression can also refer to when a member of the cast or crew walks onto the stage or into the house when there is an audience inside.
Many rock performers break this wall by leaping into the audience from the stage, trusting that their audience will, in their delight, catch him and pass him around. I have seen this not turn out well.
Melanie encouraged her audience to break this fourth wall by coming up onto the stage with her towards the end of her set. They would sit cross-legged in front of her and sing along, which was genuinely sweet.
When the audience came on stage, my job was to sit quietly a little behind her, sort of as protection.
Her audience was deep in young girls, and the boys were all totally in love.
Everyone believes they lived in a violent, threatening world growing up. No one in my neighborhood reported bullies because no one would have cared. You would be a coward if you did tell. Occasionally a father would shoot a bully if the beatings to his son became too severe, and for this he was forgiven as long as the gun gauge was not too much overkill.
This preamble brings me clumsily here. I am big, so it is rare for me to be afraid of anybody, but everybody has somebody.
My somebody was sitting at Melanie’s knees that night singing along for all he was worth.


Syria Mosque - Auditorium Pittsburgh

Syria Mosque – Auditorium Pittsburgh


Our good days and our bad days are forgotten equally.

A Hand of Real Flesh

I do not trust the goodness of a man who needs me to know of it. It is the silent hand that dispenses mercy that will save us.
We are not good or even better people by supporting a some candidate. They are our excuses for not quietly lending ourselves. The parties we support are only vanities. They are shining objects we wave in front of one another to impress. Our politics helps shield us from offering another person what he needs, a friend he knows. I hand out of his darkness. A hand of real flesh.
Within any finite space, the first crop humans grow is envy.
The last is charity. hand

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