Last night one of the bands signed to my label played a show at The Viper Room in West Hollywood. The Viper Room is this club/bar owned by Johnny Depp and is touted as the most exclusive club on the Sunset Strip. It only holds a couple hundred, and all the coolest bands and DJs play there. I knew the place was small, so I assumed it would be, you know, cozy, with black velvet stools and purple neon lights, or a red floor and a shiny black bar...
No.
What I got was a hole-in-the-wall sandwiched between an office building and a condo with a black plywood front, the smallest stage I have ever seen shoved in the corner, and waitresses in cutoff Jack Daniels t-shirts. Kind of disappointing, Johnny. And here I was, thinking we were buddies because of the whole Kentucky/Paris/Los Angeles thing. You're killing me, Depp.
Anyway, the headlining band, Adema, is the one signed to my label. They're a metal group, pretty hardcore, and actually quite famous. They've released five albums and are about to go on tour for their sixth, which drops in August. I've done their SoundScan reports, analyzing their top 20 markets and things like that, so despite the fact that the music is not really my style, I was excited to see them live. I've also spent many an afternoon burning copies of their unreleased album to send as promotion to radio stations. Which means I have heard the unreleased album over and over. So when they played their "new" songs, I already knew them. Rock on.
I also proofread the liner notes for their newest album... So go buy it, and then know that it was edited (sort of) by me.
But that's not the good part. First of all, because I work for Immortal, I was on the list. The guestlist. Oh yeah, that's right. The same girl that has probably never been on the list for a frat party at Emory is suddenly on the list for a midweek concert at the hottest venue in Southern California. Being on the list, however, means that you have to [literally, I couldn't make this up] go to the bouncer at the door and tell him THE SECRET PASSWORD before he lets you in. So I get there with one of the other Immortal interns, and, true to hipster form, the bouncer acts like we have to be approved or something before he lets us in. So he takes my ID and gives me a fierce look. "We're on the list," I say, "we work for Immortal." He keeps inspecting my ID, which, due to some stupid loophole in North Carolina government, will continue to say "under 21" until I am 26. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW ANNOYING THAT IS? In HUGE letters right over the photo on my license it says "UNDER 21!" which I have not been since last autumn, and despite the fact that my birthday is right on there, it always creates unnecessary delays.
So anyway, back to the story:
"We're on the list," I say.
"What list?" he asks fiercely, in typical bouncer style (intimidating even though he was in a tux).
I look furtively from side to side, then "Kill the headlights."
A chin up nod from the bouncer, and we're in.
"Right this way, ladies..."
HOW HARDCORE IS THAT? Kill the headlights? Can you THINK of a better password? There might as well have been a spinning bookshelf, I mean honestly.
So we go upstairs, catch the last of the opening act, then grab a seat at a table marked "RESERVED." We sit through the Adema set and toward the end the boyfriend of the other intern and his roommate arrive... both of whom are on the list at Spider Club for later on in the night. We had planned on heading to Spider after the Adema set with them.
The band put on a good performance, including a lead guitarist who came out in a Guy Fawkes mask, which almost made me pee my pants out of fright. Oh, and the other guitarist looks like a tree. So there's that.
Ok. Set over. We stand up to get ready to leave, and lead singer (Bobby) walks by us on his way to the Green Room at the back of the place. He had performed the whole set without a shirt on, and all of a sudden there is a sweaty rock star stopping at our table. I don't know if he thought we were cool, or if maybe he was just attracted by the mystery of the reserved table, but he stopped at our table, gave us high fives, and then walked into the green room. I remained unfazed. (I work for this band, I can handle it. Had it been, like, AFI, on the other hand, I'd have been flipping out.) Then he came back out from the green room, walked up to me and said (I wish I could insert audio here so you would know what it sounded like):
"YOU. are beautiful."
"Thanks," I said.
"OH MY GOD, AND YOUR LIPS!? Your LIPS! You have such gorgeous lips!"
"Thanks," I said, pushing my hair back, as though I am hit on by half-naked rock stars everyday.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Blair!" I yell back because it's still so loud, "I WORK FOR IMMORTAL!"
"Yeah!? That's awesome!"
Just then a European-looking man with a huge camera walked over and asked the lead singer in a thick accent "May I take your picture for my magazine?"
He grabbed my waist.
"Only if we can include some hotness in the picture!"
"Sure, sure," said the photographer. Wanting to befriend the European, I asked what magazine he was with.
"Dutch Esquire."
"WHAT?!"
"Yeah, I am photographer for Esquire in Holland. This is for travel section."
Which means that, in a month or so, I am probably going to be in the travel section of a magazine in HOLLAND, photographed on the arm of a rockstar in downtown Hollywood.
Just then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I whirled around to see the bass player (who looks like he could be part of Hell's Angels) standing behind me trying to get to the lead singer. Bobby, the lead singer, saw the bassist at the same moment I did, and immediately said,
"LOOK WHAT I FOUND! These LIPS!"
"Ahh, yeah, nice," said bassist, not as impressed as the lead singer.
"Well, it was nice to meet you, have a fabulous night, I think we are going to leave," I said all in one breath, trying to pull away the people I came with.
"Wait!" said the lead singer, grabbing my arm, "Where are you and your friends going?"
"Spider Club. You want to come?" I asked.
"No, I can't. I mean, I really can't. We have to go to Rainbow Room... it's like our thing. But look," he says, reaching into his pocket, "I have all this cash that they gave us to go out tonight... it's late enough now that the cover is cheap and we won't need it all. Here, take this and go to Rainbow Room-- we'll meet you there," he explains, pushing a bill into my hand. As the most rational person in the group, I looked down to see a fifty dollar bill in my hand.
Rainbow Room was about a block away, and we still had a couple hours before everything closed, and now we had enough money to pay cover... so...
Spider Club forgotten, we headed to the Rainbow Room, sitting down in a round booth in the back corner, between two other tables of metalheads, at which point I realized I had never eaten dinner.
"GRILLED CHEESE," I blurted, suddenly starving.
"CHEESE FRIES!" says the guy next to me.
We order our food, sit munching on each other's plates, and waiting for our rock star friends to arrive. The band showed up soon, fully dressed by now, and greeted us excitedly, as though we were good friends.
I don't know how this happened. I don't. I mean, I am the girl that tried every trick in the book to get backstage at the Panic! show in Paris last fall, then again at 30 Seconds To Mars in the winter (that time kind of worked), and then again at the Give It A Name festival in the spring. Arguably that time was a success, given that I met a couple drummers, a bassist, and a lead guitarist, but I never had a conversation at a show with anyone where THEY were the ones who initiated it, and then gave me $50 to meet them afterward?
All I have to say is that if this is what it is to work for a record label, then ROCK, my friends.
Love,
B
P.S. A quick note to the guy that lives on the corner outside my place: It may not LOOK like I speak Spanish, but I DO, and I understand every word you say every time I walk by, and it's not going to make me stop and talk to you if you keep saying it.
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