Exton, PA – “On the Roody Again” – Eagleview Concert Series – July 10, 2001
The boys drove the 1,725 miles from Boulder to Exton, PA without me—an epic, gallant journey they tackled in just under 32 hours. When I found them, they looked haggard , like fragile love letters folded too many times. To be fair, I wasn’t exactly glowing either, fresh off a week of indulgence and goodbye kisses with Dean on Martha’s Vineyard, I was worn as they only wished they could be, so I kept my fatigue to myself.
The guys were hovering under an awning hiding from the rain with open arms to greet me and blending seamlessly into the group was the one and only Steven “Rellogg” Kellogg. He’d been our opener in Northampton at The Iron Horse countless times. We’d become extremely attached to Steven so when the Eagleview promoter said we could pick our own opening act, we requested him. Rellogg’s tall, willowy frame wrapped me in a warm, effortless hug, his new mustache roofed an endless smile that felt like it was built just to lift my spirits. He succeeded. Just like that, the exhaustion, dampness, and devastation of having to leave Dean (the true love of my life, mark my words) behind in Boston, melted into something closer to the key of okay.
After a quick sound check, we ordered food and retreated to the van for a “costume change.” I chose the crunchy crab cakes—because obviously, yum. With no backstage area, the van became the dressing room, and the process of getting dressed for the night was clown-car chaotic (and, frankly) hysterical. Moby’s interior light burnt out long ago so, while waiting in line for the privilege of her dark privacy, we heard a soundtrack of bumped heads, reverberating “Thuds!” as someone tripped over luggage and a chorus of curses as someone realized too late that their pants were on backward. From the outside, you probably would’ve thought we were rehearsing slapstick comedy instead of preparing for a gig.
The air was damp. Mist clung to treetops, making them look like giant Q-tips dabbing at the blue-green sky. Leaves, pushed languidly by warm heavy air, resembled sea creatures, and only when we were told the gig would most likely be canceled, did we notice the full implications of the rain. The field we were playing looked less like picnic grounds and more like a lake or a pool. Then suddenly the clouds opened up and it became the most beautiful night imaginable. The gig was back on.
People arrived in droves, unfolding red and blue lawn chairs, their children giggling in oversized sweaters, their hands and hearts clapping in time with the music. The atmosphere was electric—figuratively and, as I was warned before I went on stage, literally. If I spotted any lightning, my job was to get everyone off stage immediately, ordered the promoter. Needless to say, every camera flash had my nerves doing cartwheels. But the rain held off until the last song was sung and every piece of equipment was jigsawed back into Moby’s fat belly. The storm raged all night and we thanked our lucky stars we’d managed to avert it.
It was good to be back on the road. Familiar snores echoed through the cabin of the van and the wheels over the highway hummed along. The seatbelts clacked, unfastened to their keep and the world intermittently lit up with lightning so bright, you’d have been forgiven for thinking we were back on stage. In lieu of a proper roadie* Rellogg gifted us a miniature, plush ram wearing a shirt that read “Roody.” We hung him from the rearview mirror. Lit up by the light of the dashboard I let it hypnotized me to sleep waving back and forth, back and forth until my snores joined the chorus. Rhoody was still swaying when we woke up the next the morning, though instead of Delucchi at the helm, Kenny had taken his place.
Footnote:
*A Roadie is someone who sets up and dismantles the stage, instruments, sound and lighting equipment before and after live shows.