Indianapolis, IN – “3 Sets & A Bar Brawl” – Zanies Too – July 22, 2002

Zanies Too S U C K E D . 

I woke up on the floor in a St Louis Marriott this morning. Michelle, from our booking agent’s office, who’d agreed to book our hotels this tour—must’ve mistaken us for a band of four because everywhere we’ve been thus far has been one bed short. I called ahead to New York to confirm our reservation for tomorrow and low and behold, we were only booked one room between the five of us.  Each little discouragement these days feels like another excuse to never tour again. Each slight feels one punch closer to my career’s TKO and every sigh feels like a silent resignation.

We arrived at Zanies Too around 6 pm. It was in a strip mall next to a five-and-dime store which shone yellow from within.  Soucy poked his head in the club and said, “This place is disgusting.” That’s Soucy though. He says what’s on his mind whenever no matter what feelings he slices and dices. But we had to agree with him.  The club was in a red light district so there was quite the crowd milling about the parking lot.  The bouncer opened a screeching metal door, “You the band?” he shouted.  “Ya,” we answered.  “Ya don’ wanna stay out there too long.  Been a lot’a shootings this week.” With that, he let the door slam.

The bar was swarming with some dozen bar flies who stared at us through glazed, unseeing eyes.  The in-house sound guy was somewhere between hungover and drunk—Jägermeister by the smell of him, and our green room was a storage closet. I walked to the front of the house to check out the gear. Some guy was sweeping last night’s butts off the stage.

Barbara (a God-sent barmaid) fed us some pizza and Cokes and slowly we began to let our guards down. But then Brian (you’ll remember our temporary sound guy— the one who would rather be on Leftover Salmon’s tour bus than in our van) came to tell us there’d been a mistake in the booking and we’d been scheduled to play three (count ’em, THREE) 60-minute sets in this smoky-ass bar. This wouldn’t get us back on the road until 1AM (when I’d be heading back to make my bed on a hotel floor). I felt sick and went to look for some Tums.

It seemed like years before we actually got on stage to play, but once there, we surrounded ourselves in a little protective bubble — a forcefield where we imagined nothing could touch us — that is, until someone threw a CD and hit Kenny.   “Is that all you got!?!?” the drunk, irate CD thrower yelled, and that’s when the bar brawl broke out. The bouncer yelled “Take it outside!” And nobody listened.

That was our cue to cut and run.  We didn’t even stick around to get paid we just bolted.

I’ve got to say, though, the women in that place were champs! They were gutsy beyond belief and still sweet. They were like the Amazon women on Popeye’s island—the ones who brought him up and taught him how to be strong and good. They were gems amongst the trash of Zains Too and I have huge respect for them.

Thank you gals, for saving us.  We most likely won’t be seeing you again.