Getting Real

4. Ground Control



Four days until show-time and Jonas Franklin was conspicuously absent—again.

All Jake’s stadium crew department heads were present for a pre-production meeting and he wasn’t prepared to waste time waiting

They had a stage to build, rehearsals to schedule and fifty thousand punters to please on one night, with a high octane performance that would include laser lights, a highwire trapeze and pyrotechnics, as well as a set design with two acrobat poles and a telescopic tower device called the Hand of God that would carry members of the band over the heads of the punters nearest the stage.

While the team settled in and a waitress took coffee orders, road manager Glen Ague turned to Jake. “Two things, Reedy. Your bike is here and what’s the low down on the talent?”

“Ta Glen, where is she?” The Triumph was Jake’s sanity on tour. For the smaller tours he had no choice but to leave her behind, but when a road train was involved, and if the stars aligned, Bonne got to go on tour as well.

“Car park.” Glen pressed keys into Jake’s hand. “And?”

“Professional, but there’s a problem with Jonas. Flaky. He should be here now.” Jonas missing in action was a bad sign. In a strictly hierarchical sense, Glen worked for Jake as did all the crew, but practically the roles of tour manager, road manager and stage manager worked closely together, that’s why the absence of Jonas who was both EP and stage manager for this tour was a problem. Without the stage manager’s input there was no one looking out for the specific needs of the band and the other talent on stage and backstage.

Glen grimaced, worrying his new goatee with a finger. “And Rielle?”

Jake shook his head remembering her sharp tongue and water cannon act and the way she’d undressed him with her insane-coloured eyes. “Little hellcat.”

Glen grinned back. “Just how we like ‘em, eh?”

When the last coffee cup was delivered, Jake started the meeting. Each of the team leaders had been provided with a tour bible: a document providing all the details they’d need to produce staging, sound, lighting, and vision based on the show’s creative and technical design.

“It’s standard big venue lighting including gladiators,” said Tim Beatty, the lighting director. Tim wore a t-shirt that said, Don’t mess with an electrical engineer. It megahertz.

“This is no redneck laser show,” Tim’s offsider Lizard said, making reference to mirror balls used in pub and club shows.

“What would you know, you silly spark fairy?” teased the sound engineer, Bruce Ng, sipping his second black coffee.

Tim shook his coffee spoon at Bruce. “Hey, Liz isn’t just an ordinary silly spark fairy: he’s my chief truss monkey as well.”

“For a guy called Lizard he does look a hell of a lot like a monkey,” agreed Bruce, as Lizard made predictable monkey noises and scratched under his arm.

Jake dropped his head and laughed. This crew of guys was like a family with all its ticks and tensions, but with one clear purpose: to stage the most professional concerts possible. They sat there in their standard pre-show work uniform of old, over-washed, tatty tour t-shirts, jeans and rubber soled boots, each of them with an identification laminate on a lanyard around their neck. During the show they’d be universally dressed in black so they could move around the stage and set without attracting undue notice.

In the general scheme of things, the sound guys thought they were kings because no one would hear the concert without them. The lighting guys acted like big shots because no one would see anything without them, and the staging roadies would bet good money on being the only ones who did any worthwhile work at all. Front of house fought with backstage, spark fairies slagged off riggers, video techs looked down on roadies, security got in the way of a good time and everyone had it in for the tour manager who could make their life hell. And that was just how Jake liked it.

“Video specs are clear, standard Jumbotron screen. Nothing too difficult, except rigging cameras for the Hand of God sequences,” said Collin Ng.

“Better be nice to my spark fairies then,” said Tim.

Lizard, scratching his shaved head, muttered, “Yeah, what he said.”

“You know how many spark fairies it takes to change a light bulb?” said Collin to his brother, Bruce.

Bruce answered, “As many as you want. One holds the bulb, and the others drink until the room spins.”

“Was that ever funny?” asked Glen.

The big voice of Bodge Baynard, head of the staging crew, cut across the general hubbub. “Staging design is interesting, lots of suspension, lots of scaffolding.”

Lizard pumped his fist. “Truss monkeys rule.”

Bodge ignored Lizard. “The only tricky thing is this Hand of God contraption. It’ll be a bastard to get right from a technical and safety point of view.”

“We’ve added more time in the rehearsal schedule to handle that,” said Jake, to comments of approval from the crew.

Glen turned to the enormous bald man sitting to the right of himself and Jake. “Are you ready for bump-in, Grunt?”

“Ready,” said Grunt, a man of much muscle and few words. “We unload the trucks after we finish here and we’ll be ready for technical rehearsal tomorrow.”

“What’s the plan for security?” asked Glen.

“Low key, they don’t think there will be much trouble here. Tall poppy syndrome works in their favour,” said Jake with a shrug. He wondered about that. Aussie fans were generally considered more laid back, some even said more respectful—if you could believe that—than fans in Europe or the US.

“When do we have talent here?” asked Bodge.

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Jake knew for most of the crew it would be a long night with only snatched sleep until the next evening. There was still no sign of Jonas, so he decided to wrap up. “Anything else for now?”

“Reedy, what are they like?” asked Teflon, one of Bodge’s crew.

“They’re pros, Tef,” said Jake, thinking of how well organised Rand and Rielle had been yesterday, despite the family feud. “It’s going to be a good tour.”

“Reedy, mate, come on,” Teflon urged, wrinkling his forehead under his red bandana.

Jake laughed. “You guys want me to dish dirt on them, you bloody sods.”

“Does a chicken have lips?” said Teflon.

“No!” several people said at once.

“Oh!” Teflon said, his head suddenly jerking forward as Bodge whacked him one. “Is the Pope a Catholic then?”

“Tef, you’ll meet them tomorrow,” said Jake, still laughing.

“Reedy, we just want to know if she has lead singer disease?” said Bruce. “I want to know how hard I have to work to make her sound right. She could be all auto-tune for all we know. Is she any good?”

Jake shook his head. “I haven’t heard her. We’ll all find out together.”

“I just want to know if she’s as fit a bird in person as she is in the music vids.” said Collin, giving Bruce a nudge.

Jake just grinned and received a chorus of appreciative, “Ahhhs!”

“I’ve got a question,” said Bodge. “How reliable is the ‘book of lies’?”

All eyes switched to Jake. An accurate tour program was important, it saved time and money, but more importantly, it let everyone know where they needed to be and what they needed to have done by a specific time and date.

Jake put his open hand down on his copy of the tour bible. “Scout’s honour, this one looks good.” But he was worried, without Jonas’s input they only had the written tour bible to go by. If it was inaccurate, they’d be in trouble.

“Hey Jake,” called Teflon. “There was a rigger, a fairy and a tour manager backstage and this genie appears out of the smoke machine and offers them each a wish.”

“Are you for real, Tef,” groaned Lizard.

“How old is this joke?” said Glen, slapping his forehead.

Teflon continued, “The rigger says, ‘I’ll have a number one hit single, twin girlfriends, and a house in Byron Bay.’ And the genie waves her wand, and the guy disappears in a puff of smoke.

“Well, he would,” agreed Bodge.

“The spark fairy says, ‘I’ll have a platinum album, a yacht and a harbour view penthouse.’ And he disappears in a puff of smoke too,” said Teflon.

“Gotta love that,” said Tim.

Teflon looked around at his audience, gearing up for the punch line. “The genie turns to the tour manager and says, ‘Anything you wish for is my command,’ and the tour manager says…”

“‘I want those two bastards back here right now!’” chorused the men at the table, making their waitress look around in surprise.

Ah, it was going to be a good tour.