Fetish
5:00 p.m.
"Here ya' go, Joan Jett!" said the cabby, as he handed me one of his business cards. "My name is Ulysses. Just give me a call after the show, and I'll come t' pick ya' up!"
Waving good-bye to Ulysses (and I swear that this really is the guy's name!), I listen to the Latin surf-punk sounds of Los Straightjackets growing fainter as the cab drives off, leaving me in a very dusty parking lot at the Wet 'n' Wild water park in El Paso, Texas (truly an oasis in the desert). Yes, I've come prepared to enjoy the show. The promise of a free ticket and backstage pass to a Joan Jett & the Blackhearts show has brought me all the way out here in the first place, and I am more than ready to have a good time! A few weeks ago, I watched Detroit Rock City --a movie about four friends who make a road-trip to Detroit to see KISS--and I feel totally prepared for this marathon concert. Scheduled to kick-off at 6 p.m., this radio-sponsored event marks the official beginning of El Paso's "Rocktoberfest": an evening of Foghat, Blue …yster Cult, John Kay & Steppenwolf, and Joan Jett & the Blackhearts. What better way to spend a Saturday night in El Paso!
Armed with a contraband camera tucked away in my backpack, I've specifically made this trip from my home in Bryan, TX, to get backstage with the hopes of meeting Joan Jett. How this all came about is really another story in itself; suffice it to say that Kenny Laguna (Joan's long-time manager) has put my name on "the List," which will, his assistant has assured me via a prolonged e-mail correspondence, get me in to see the show and then backstage.
Shortly after Ulysses' departure, a security guard I encounter in the parking lot tells me that he has to confiscate my wallet chain. Reluctantly, I take off my chain and give it to The Chain Collector, hoping that he won't check my backpack and confiscate the camera (he doesn't). The Chain Collector assures me that if I find him after the concert, he'll return it to me, but I quickly resign myself to the fact that I'll never see that chain again.
Although I don't know it at the time, tonight will be filled with similar disappointments. As I continue making my way through the dusty parking lot, I still believe that Detroit Rock City has prepared me for the disappointments and surprises that often accompany the insanity of rock-n-roll fandom. . . .
. . . a Jetthead Detour
My history with Joan Jett goes back quite a few years. (This year, I realized recently, marks my twentieth year as a Jetthead!). My memories of being a twelve-year-old daughter growing up in rural Oklahoma with conservative, Southern Baptist parents, are peppered with: "What is that racket! Krista Lynn, turn off that stereo right now!!" Well, that "racket" was Joan Jett, either as part of The Runaways or as part of The Blackhearts: "'Cause I was born to be bad! / I'm not sad / and I'm glad I did it!" ("Cherry Bomb," The Runaways); "I'm frustrated! / My hands are tied. / I'm frustrated! / My brains are fried!" ("Frustrated," The Blackhearts); and, of course, "I love rock-n-roll! / So put another dime in the jukebox, baby!" ("I Love Rock-n-Roll," The Blackhearts)--these were my anthems as I struggled through what, at the time, seemed to be a pretty hellish adolescence.
I bought all the Joan Jett stuff I could afford; started playing the guitar; wrote poetry and songs; went to rock concerts; played softball and basketball; and alternated between dressing like Joan on the covers of Album and the "Fake Friends" single (black parachute pants, black shirt, and a bandanna wrapped tightly around my right wrist) and Joan in the "Everyday People" video (white t-shirt, torn blue jeans, tattered jean jacket, and a bandanna tied around my neck). Needless to say, my parents were not all that fond of any of this, but they attributed my behavior to a period of tomboyness that I would eventually leave behind. Much to their dismay, this has never happened!
Though I didn't realize it at the time, I was identifying with Joan Jett's queerness: for me, at that point in my life, Joan was a butchy, tough girl who liked sports and rock-n-roll, and I idolized her for her individuality and coolness. Most importantly, though, her image and her music conveyed a queer sexuality, always delivered with confidence and pride. In her music, I found an assurance that it's okay to be different and outside of the "mainstream" (and, hey, it's even preferable to being like everybody else, so fuck you!). Now, listening to many of her early songs, the lesbian coding emerges as one of the most significant aspects of that music. ("Secret Love," "Frustrated," and "Bad Reputation" are just a few that come to mind here.)
Even twenty years after first hearing her music, just listening to a Joan Jett cd still gives me quite a thrill. So, you can imagine what it means to me to go backstage. . . .
5:15 p.m.
When I get to the gate of the Wet 'n' Wild and tell the young woman at the will call ticket window that I am on "the List," she tells me that she can't find Kenny's list. This is something I'd feared could happen, but I'm prepared. I hand her a print out of the e-mail I'd received from Kenny's assistant at Blackheart Records, and the young woman summons the Manager over her walkie-talkie.
As it turns out, the Manager is actually a very pleasant person; a middle-aged athletic woman who dashes backstage to look for Kenny, and then quicly escorts me into her office at the Wet 'n' Wild (which is located about 2 miles from the gate!). The Manager has found out that Kenny and Joan have just left the premises and will not be returning until 9:30.
"Some guy in The Blackhearts is here," she tells me, "but he knows nothing about the List."
In her office, she photocopies my "official" e-mail from Blackheart Records, initials it, and whisks me back to the gate. She gives me a ticket, and tells me to check with the security guards in front of the backstage area at 9:30.
"Tell those guys over there that you're on the List," she says, pointing to the backstage area, "and show them this e-mail with my initials on it. They should be able to help you then."
I thanked the Manager, she wished me luck, and she hustled off to some remote area of the Wet 'n' Wild, leaving me in the dust!
5:45 p.m.
After double-checking with the security guys guarding the backstage area make sure that they don't have the List (they don't), I wander through the crowd, checking out the pre-concert hoopla. A local Harley Davidson dealership is co-sponsoring the event, and they have several displays of their merchandise set-up among the beer, Pepsi, and hot dog vendors. Several Harley Davidson motorcycles--closely guarded by leather-clad bikers--are strategically positioned, catching the attention of a few potential buyers. Having spent almost all of my money on the 40-minute cab ride, I don't have the cash for even a Harley Davidson bumper sticker; I do stop and take a look, though.
I locate the kiosk for each band performing tonight. After I look through the Blackhearts' memorabilia to make sure there's nothing I can't live without (there isn't--I own most of it already!), I wander over to the Foghat booth. I think to myself that Foghat has one of the coolest logos in the history of rock music. . . .
6:15 p.m.
Staking out a place near the stage until I can (hopefully) move to the backstage area, I find myself standing behind a middle-aged couple from New Mexico, who has brought along their teenage son and two of his friends. Clearly, the teenagers think they're in for a night of "geezer rock," and they seem quite embarrassed by their overly enthusiastic parents. As Foghat takes the stage, the couple lets out a "woo-hoo!", and the teenagers quickly run away!
Foghat's live show is very impressive--these guys know how to rock! I wonder if the teenagers who ran away from their parents were really enjoying the show and just didn't want their parents to know it! For me, one of the highlights of the entire evening is listening to and watching Foghat's lead guitarist, Bryan Bassett, who is one of the best rock-blues guitar players I've ever heard. Foghat does a great job warming-up the crowd, and I enjoy hearing some old favorites (i.e., "Slow Ride" and "Fool for the City").
By the last notes of "Slow Ride" (the encore), the entire place is rocking and ready for the rest of the evening.
7:45 p.m.
After Foghat, I visit the Backstage Security Guys again. Assuring me that he sympathizes with my situation, #1 Security Guy tells me that he can't let me backstage without authorization from the Boss.
"I don't know anything about the List," he says. "You can talk to the Boss, though. He's the guy in the baseball cap at the main gate."
"Okay," I say to myself. "It's not 9:30 yet, so don't panic. There's plenty of time to get backstage before the Blackhearts."
I thank #1 Security Guy, who I am sure I'll be dealing with later in the evening, and begin walking back to the main gate to find the Boss.
By this time, traffic at the main gate is heavy. Apparently, most of the concertgoers have decided to skip Foghat and arrive in time to see Blue …yster Cult. It's easy to spot the Boss. Yes, he does have on the "SECURITY" baseball cap, but he's also about thirty years older than the young men he has working for him. (Apparently, if you're a female employee at a Wet 'n' Wild concert, you can only take tickets at the gate or sell food.)
I explain my situation to the Boss, who tells me that he has to keep everyone focused on those who people just now getting to the show. He has several unpleasant encounters with people who want to bring in drinks (which are also illegal at these shows--I'm still hoping he won't discover my camera).
"No drinks allowed, man! Ditch the drink!" he says to one very disgruntled guy in a Steppenwolf t-shirt.
At this point, I'm beginning to think that I might not even be able to discuss my situation with the Boss, who clearly has his hands full with fans who are arriving drunk and apparently plan to spend the night in an alcohol-induced haze.
"Come back and find me at 9:30," he tells me, as he continues to police the entrance for drinks, chains, and any other illegal devices.
Needless to say, my spirits are a bit low at this point, as I start to think that I might not get backstage. I vow, though, to try and enjoy the show no matter what happens.
8:15 p.m.
By the time Blue …yster Cult takes the stage, I'm still talking to the Boss at the front gate. Having lost the prime place in the crowd I'd enjoyed with Foghat, I finally find a place along the perimeters of the crowd. Clearly, many of these fans have come to see BOC--many of these people know the words to every song, and they're having a good time singing along.
However, mid-way through BOC's set, things in the crowd begin to get a little ugly. A few minor scuffles break out among the crowd, and people are pushing like crazy to get closer to the stage. The majority of the people are here to have a good time and enjoy the music, but a handful of people are ruining the show for everybody. Unfortunately, these same people are drinking nonstop, which contributes to the general mayhem. Crowd-surfing and drinking are fine by me--these activities are all part of the show as far as I'm concerned. I find several trouble spots in the crowd, though--places where people are being stupid and obnoxious. Oddly enough, Security is more concerned about policing people at the door and around the backstage area than they are about stopping fights. Where is the Boss when you really need him to flex some of his muscle?
I manage to find a safe spot in the crowd, though, and enjoy BOC's set. "Godzilla" is the high-point of the set. These guys are all top-notch musicians. Bassist Danny Miranda, in particular, is really amazing with the crowd, as he enthusiastically jumps around the stage getting everyone to sing along. He totally enjoys himself, and you can tell he gets a huge kick out of being onstage playing with BOC.
9:30 p.m.
Okay. It's 9:30 p.m., the time that Joan and Kenny are supposed to be arriving. I go to see the Boss, hoping that he'll be able to help me out now.
"Hi. I was here earlier. . . . "
"Oh, yeah! Now, how can I help you?"
I recap my situation for him, he takes me to the ticket window, and he finds the List, which really does exist! Even better, my name is on it! I can hardly contain my relief and excitement. . . .
"Follow me," says the Boss, and before I can catch my breath, he's explaining my situation to the Security Guys.
#1 Security Guy smiles at me and lets me pass. . . .
9:35 p.m.
So, I'm finally backstage, and let me tell you, it's quite different from being out in the crowd! First, it's less crowded, and there are no obviously obnoxious people back here. There is free food. There are free drinks (non-alcoholic). There is tons of equipment; lots of people wearing backstage passes and headphones; lots of manager-types walking around with clipboards; and this guy who looks like a cross between Billy Gibbons of ZZTop and Charlie Daniels, and who seems to be in charge of the entire show. His position in the backstage society, along wth his physical girth, prevent him from moving around, but everyone who is running around seems to be reporting to him and hanging on his every word. This is an important guy.
And, I see a familiar face back here, too: The Chain Collector. The Chain Collector is now guarding the "Bands Only" portion of the backstage area, and he tells me I can't go past this line.
He does lean over to me, though, saying, "Keep this in your pocket, and don't let anybody see it," as he slips me my wallet chain. Things are looking up. . . . .
9:45 p.m.
I finally wind up in a tent for VIPs, where all of the other fans who have gotten backstage are hanging out. I meet some really nice people back here. Catherine and Pam are the first two people I meet. This blonde guy is talking to Pam, and he looks kind of rock-starish. After he walks away, I go over to Pam, introduce myself, and ask her who that guy is.
"Oh, his name is Ron," she tells me. "He's the drummer for Steppenwolf. Do you like Steppenwolf?"
Yes, I assure her that I do like Steppenwolf, even though I'm a bit disappointed to find out he's not associated with Joan.
"Well, I've never really listened to their music," says Pam, "but my sister likes them. He's a nice guy."
Pam introduces me to her friend Catherine, and we instantly bond because we're all there to meet Joan. Pam and Catherine got backstage because Pam knows someone where she works (at an ad agency) who got her two backstage passes. As we continue talking, it becomes clear that neither of them know much about Joan (and they've not really heard anything since "I Love Rock-n-Roll"), but they're nice people. Both of them are very beautiful blondes, and they're wearing silver and purple ribbons that you tie around wrapping paper (the thin kind that you curl) in their hair and around their necks. We must make an unusual-looking threesome: the two of them, and me with my shaved head, leather cap, t-shirt, jeans, and leather vest.
Then, I see someone who must be one of the luckiest guys in the world. Bobby Rondinelli, the drummer for Blue …yster Cult, is walking around backstage with two scantily-clad blondes clutching him. Now, Rondinelli is a kick-ass drummer. He really is amazing, and he was a lot of fun to watch onstage. He's a kind of short, fat guy, with curly black hair. And, he has two women with him who are totally captivated by him. I'm sure it's very difficult to be a rock star. Lucky bastard!
Catherine and Pam leave the backstage area for awhile, telling me that they want to watch Steppenwolf from in front of the stage. Frankly, I totally understand that because you can see very little from our vantage point. The back part of the stage is almost completely covered, and so we can't see anything from the VIP tent.
At this point, I meet Bibi and Cyndi. They have also met Ron (the Steppenwolf drummer), and they assure me that he is the nicest guy in the world.
"Omigod, he is, like 42 years old. . . Can you believe it, chica?!" exclaims Bibi. "He has the most beautiful blue eyes, and he is soooo nice. . . . He got us backstage. I can't believe you came all the way here from Bryan! What do you think about El Paso? Is this your first time here? It kind of sucks here sometimes. I've been here my whole life. . . . "
. . . And Bibi really likes to talk. Cyndi is pretty quiet at first, but Bibi wants to tell me her whole life story, which is fine. Bibi's energetic mood is highly contagious, and she's a lot of fun to be around.
"Krista, do you want to meet Ron? Hey, Ron! Over here! There's someone I want you to meet!"
And here comes Ron Hurst, Steppenwolf's drummer. He has a big smile for Bibi and even a bigger smile for Cyndi. He is truly a nice, nice guy. He must be one of the nicest guys in rock-n-roll, in fact.
"Ron, Krista is here to meet Joan Jett, and she came all the way from Bryan," says Bibi. "Could you bring Joan out here to meet us?"
Ron has clearly been in situations like this before. He's very good-natured about the whole thing. "Well, I can't really do that. I don't even think she's here yet. But, she is a really nice person. I've met her, and she's very personable. . . . "
I just smile at Ron, saying, "Thanks anyway, man. I really like Steppenwolf."
He smiles back, and tells us some interesting stories about his days of pre-sobriety. Apparently, he used to have to call the U.S. Embassy (sometimes from jail) every time Steppenwolf was in a foreign country because he'd get into a lot of trouble drinking. As he guzzles a bottle of water, he tells us, "Be glad you didn't ever meet me when I was drinking!"
Ron suddenly says, "Oh, that's my cue," and he hurries onto the ramp to run onstage with the rest of Steppenwolf.
10:00 p.m.
My new friends leave me alone in the VIP tent while they go off with Steppenwolf's sound man to work the sound board (which is out front, about one hundred yards from the stage). I decline their invitation to go along, afraid I might miss Joan's arrival.
Unfortunately, I can't really see Steppenwolf from back here, but I can certainly hear them! I get an occasional glimpse of John Kay's backside, though--and he's as lean and mean as he's always been--as they rip through some of their most recent material, which is liberally peppered with a some delta-infused guitar riffs.
I'm just hanging out here by myself as Steppenwolf works their way through their set. I see Bobby (the BOC drummer) standing just offstage with the two blondes, and he is clearly enjoying the show. . . .
And suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see Joan. She's wearing her trademark black latex pants and a gray hooded sweatshirt and walking around the perimeter of the stage, about 30 yards away from me. She's walking around really fast, stopping for a few moments to chat with a guy working a soundboard just behind the stage. I am truly stunned, and cannot utter a word. I think about yelling, "Hey, Joan!", and I even open my mouth--but no words come out. Next thing I know, she's walking with the backstage guy, and the two are deep in coversation as they disappear behind the "Bands Only" barrier.
. . . . And all I can do is just stand there frozen. I feel like I've missed an opportunity here, but at the same time, I really don't want to bother her before the show. She seems to have on her "game face," as she checks out all the details. If only Bibi was here with me, I'm sure she would call out Joan's name, just as she had done with Ron!
Then, I notice Sean Koos, the Blackhearts' bass player, walking around backstage. He seems pretty engrossed in Steppenwolf: " . . . Travel back with us to a time many years ago!" yells John Kay, as Steppenwolf tears into "Magic Carpet Ride." From this moment on, every time I hear "Magic Carpet Ride," I will flash back to me standing backstage, having just seen Joan, staring at Sean, and unable to utter a single fucking word!
By the time the "heavy-metal thunder" of "Born To Be Wild" is blaring, I begin to come around a bit. I manage, finally, to breathe.
Steppenwolf leaves the stage, and the roadies begin to move tons of equipement around--Steppenwolf's tower of speakers move off the stage and onto forklifts. Bibi runs over to me, "I got to run the soundboard! I got to move buttons around and everything! They're making a cd of their show here. . . . "
11:15 p.m.
We all manage to regroup in the VIP tent: me, Pam, Catherine, Bibi, Cyndi, and even good ol' Ron, fresh from jamming onstage!
We all manage to give a "Great show, man!" to Ron, who high-fives all of us. What a trip! Cyndi cannot keep her eyes off of Ron, and Bibi is just way too excited for words.
"So, we're agreed then? Later tonight at the Radisson?" I hear Ron say to Cyndi.
"Oh, yeah," she answers. "I don't have to be anyplace until 9:00 in the morning. . . . "
Ron says good-bye to me, Bibi, Pam, and Catherine, and he and Cyndi go off hand-in-hand to the "Bands Only" area.
"I promised you a beer, Cyndi. C'mon."
And off they go. I wonder to myself if Cyndi will get to see Joan back there. Clearly, though, her mind is on other things! I update Bibi, Pam, and Catherine on my Joan sighting, and I find out that none of them even knows what Joan looks like these days! I describe the short, blonde hair and the latex pants. . . . Bibi runs off with the Steppenwolf sound guy to places unknown, leaving Catherine, Pam, and me here to wait for Joan.
11:30 p.m.
By the time Joan and the Blackhearts make it to the backstage ramp, waiting to run onto the stage together, my voice returns. Catherine, Pam, and I scream at the top of our lungs, "Hey, Joan!" and wave like crazy at her. Again, we have to stay about thirty yards away from this ramp, which totally sucks. This reminds me of some lines from "A Hundred Feet Away": " . . . when just what she was dreamin' of / was just a hundred feet a-a-a-waaayyy!"
Looking our way, Joan puts her hand up to shield her eyes from the lights that are behind us. She smiles and waves at us, and this makes the entire evening worth all of its previous troubles! We all wave back at her (very enthusiastically, I might add), and she turns around to continue her pre-concert small talk with the Blackhearts.
I make my way back to the front of the stage to watch the show (which I can't see from the VIP tent, really). They open with "Bad Reputation," which gets off to a rocky start. Just as the opening notes of the song sound, Joan stops and says, "Ground check!" Apparently, her guitar isn't grounded (which means she could get electrocuted!) because some roadies came out, take the guitar, unplug it, and then plug it in again.
Joan: "Howdy, El Paso! Sorry about that....we'll try this again! . . . I don't really care 'bout my bad reputation!"
And the Blackhearts begin a show that runs the gamut of Joan's career, taking us through "Bad Reputation," "Cherry Bomb," "Long Time," "Androgynous," "Baby Blue," "Fetish," "Friend to Friend," "I Love Rock-n-Roll," "I Wanna Be Your Dog," "Roadrunner," "Real Wild Child," "Love Is All Around," "Oh, Yeah," and "Crimson and Clover." The show rocks; the band is really tight and having a great time.
Doesn't it suck, though, how a handful of people can make others around them at a concert really miserable? During the course of this show, Joan stops the show 3 times because some assholes are fighting and pushing, right in the middle of the crowd. Joan asks them to take it out of the middle of the crowd, but this one guy, especially, is such a jerk, and keeps slugging people around him.
Joan stops the show and, pointing right at this guy, yells, "You!! Yeah, you!! Your ass is mine! I cannot have a good time up here while people are getting hurt! You push one more person, and your ass is mine, dickhead!!"
What can I say? Joan is just a helluva cool person who doesn't want anyone to get hurt. I, for one, am very glad that she singles this guy out because things are really getting out of hand. I'm standing pretty close to this guy at the time, and several times I am almost pushed onto the ground because he's slugging people, and then people are slugging him back. However, much to my surprise, a lot of people start boo-ing Joan at this point! One guy behind me even yells, "And you used to be with The Runaways?! You don't know how to rock!!"
What?! The guy who yells this is about forty years old! I turn around and say, "You bet your ass she was with The Runaways--when she was 16 fucking years old! And how are old are you, asshole?!"
Luckily, this guy either doesn't hear me, or he ignores me. I suddenly feel very threatened in this situation, and so I retreat backstage before the night ends with me being put in the hospital. What a total fucking drag! What total fucking assholes! Security seems totally nonplussed by this whole situation.
Backstage, things are a helluvalot safer. I locate Pam and Catherine (who are also pretty steamed about the behavior of the crowd), and we find ourselves a spot by the side of the stage where we can see pretty well. In fact, Catherine and Pam are so disgusted by the whole scene, that they actually leave the show.
I stick around, though, and things do finally calm down after Joan threatens to leave the stage and not come back. Before too long, Joan is joking around with the guys onstage (the usual banter), and they all seem to be having a good time. At one point, as if to somehow rescue the show from the assholes, Joan does say, "I like Texas!" before she gets the crowd to "howl like little doggies" for "I Wanna Be Your Dog."
And, before you know it, the show is over, as the last chord of "Crimson and Clover" drones on for several seconds. "Good night, El Paso!"
Kenny, the guy who had gotten me on the List, hustles Joan offstage pretty fast. I came prepared to try to get an autograph, but this doesn't happen. Frankly, I can understand why, after witnessing the behavior of the drunk assholes earlier. A guy and I get pretty close to Joan--about 5 feet from her--and hold out our pens for autographs. Kenny leads Joan away, though, and she tells us, "Sorry. . . ".
As I watch her and Kenny walking to the "Bands Only" area, I'm sad that I don't get an autograph, but I also just feel lucky to have gotten backstage and as close to her as I have. Maybe if those assholes had behaved themselves during the show, Kenny and Joan would've stuck around a bit longer. As I make my way to the pay phone at the Wet 'n' Wild to call Ulysses, I find myself pretty pleased with the entire experience. I know I'll be too wired to sleep tonight. And I know that there will be many more opportunities for me to see the Blackhearts.
"Hey, Joan Jett!" Ulysses exclaims, as I open the door to his cab. I proceed to tell me about the evening, and he tells me a great story about spending an evening partying with Trent Reznor.
"Y'know, meeting famous people isn't always that great, Joan Jett," he says. "I used to love Nine Inch Nails, but ever since I met that guy through a buddy o' mine, I can't stand their music. Reznor is such an asshole! I'll never give that band another cent of my money. . . . "
I know Ulysses is trying to making me feel better about leaving the show autograph-less, and his story is pretty entertaining. Ah, fandom! I need to start saving up for my next Blackhearts show. . . .