On the Road with Verona Red Day 6: St Louis, MO

---

Leavetakings

I woke up as our new friends were rustling around the hotel room. I'm not usually a very deep sleeper, and they had to step over me as they were getting ready for the day anyways. We went down to eat the complimentary breakfast while the band, taking full advantage of the safe, comfortable and quiet environment, slept. It was one of the swankiest breakfast buffets I've ever seen at a hotel. The huge courtyard, with the soft burbling of the fountain from the entryway providing soothing background noise made a perfect atmosphere to enjoy some scrambled eggs that were probably beaten in some sort of industrial sized paint bucket. After eating, we went back up to wake the boys. Everyone showered, packed up and said our most sincere thanks and goodbyes to the ladies. We hit the road and began the six hour drive to St. Louis for the last show of the tour.

Steve's growing detachment from reality made the ride fairly uncomfortable from the beginning. The van was on cruise control, as was the conversation - meaningless chatter that was safe as long as it steered away from anything related to Steve. Eventually, the fuel meter was hovering near the "E" so Mike pulled off at an exit in somewhat desolate central Missouri. The boys all hopped out to stretch and grab energy drinks and snacks for the remainder of the trip. After a few minutes I decided that I wanted something as well, so I jumped out, locked the doors and ran into the gas station. Steve took this opportunity to pull me aside and whisper sordid tales of malicious betrayals and devious lies that were circulating the cramped quarters of the van about him. These bitter, hushed allegations immediately made me shift mental gears. Rather than grabbing an energy drink as I had intended, I began to peruse the alcohol selection despite the knowledge that the mid-day sun was lurking just outside to shine its disappointment on me.

As I walked towards the van, I noticed that the boys were milling around it in bemused irritation. Upon my arrival, Mike informed me that the keys were locked in the van. I, being the person that left last and locked the van on my way out, was the natural person to blame. However, I maintain that one should never part himself from the only set of keys to a vehicle on a trip. It proved an inconsequential delay, as I used my AAA card to call somebody out to unlock the door. Somehow, despite our being in what appeared to be a perfect out of the way spot for innumerable truck stop cocaine and/or lot lizard purchases, the AAA representative was there within 20 minutes. Like a pit crew member with shattered dreams, he got in there and popped the door open in under 30 seconds. Probably unwittingly adding to his despair, we got back in the van with a tip of the cap and a thanks, none of us even once reaching for a wallet to provide a well deserved tip for such efficient service.

Before the Show

Unlike most of the other cities on the tour schedule, I've been to St. Louis several times. It was usually to watch a baseball game, or passing through onto bigger and better places, which, incidentally, is almost everywhere. After all, St. Louis is the second largest city in Missouri. That's not exactly a bold statement. St. Louis is famous for a few things:
1) An arch, where if you pay a mere $10 you get to ride an elevator to see the glory that is the St. Louis skyline, with the other tallest building topping out at a whopping 42 floors. It's the kind of sublime beauty that would make dozens of people a year leap from the observation deck if it weren't completely enclosed.
2) Stellar sports franchises, like the St. Louis Rams and St. Louis Blues, who have been valiantly struggling to get out of the basements of their respective divisions for years. But at least they have the Cardinals, who as of the moment of writing this, sit at 2nd in their terrible division, one game ahead of the Pittsburgh Pirates.
3) Murder, and buckets of it.



See, as a Chicagoan, I'm sort of obligated to hate St. Louis. But it's not even a real city anyways, so this all just seems petty. It's like a nuclear physicist mocking an autistic midget. Really fun and easy, sure, but probably unnecessary. Probably.

Verona Red at Cicero's in St. Louis, Missouri

We arrived with plenty of time to spare, but felt like if we started really exploring the magic of St. Louis, we would end up skipping the show because we wouldn't want it to ever end. So we took a beeline to Cicero's, the venue of the night. It didn't take long to unload everything as we all had a practiced hand at this point. The venue was interesting; in the front it looked like a mix between a regular bar and grill joint and an old 1950's malt shop. They were definitely going for a really retro look, and I don't know if it worked for me. It was bizarre to step from that, past the huge black bouncer with a surly disposition into the stage area, where it was very dark, open and dingy. It was the largest venue of the tour, which isn't necessarily saying a whole lot. Out by the loading door, some of the other bands were kicking around, smoking cigarettes and bullshitting with each other. The atmosphere amongst the performing bands was definitely better than any of the other shows.

As we were waiting for the show to start, I went to the van and found Steve brooding in the center of the bench seat alone. I, with great trepidation, asked him if everything was all right. I should have listened to my instincts and proceeded with my van visit in silence, as it would have saved me from the torrent that was then unleashed upon me. Never once breaking gaze from a fixed spot on the dashboard, Steve began to describe to me the vast injustices that had occurred so far. Basically it boiled down to this: Verona Red was without a permanent bassist. They had taken Steve on to audition him to be a potential permanent member of the band. Unfortunately, the audition phase fell in the same time-span as this week long tour, which forced a lot more pressure on the situation. Steve, not exactly coal turning into diamond under pressure, proceeded to become weirder and more distant with every show that the band refused to commit to him as their full time bassist. By this, the last show, he was at his boiling point. And me, as his unwilling therapist, had to sit and listen to the explosion. It all ended in a massive surge of emotions, and Steve throwing the van door open and stomping off into the horizon. He rounded a corner on the far edge of the massive parking lot, and was lost from sight.

I shook off my shock, and ran out to find someone in the band. I found Mike and Chris talking together and informed them that their bassist was, at the moment, wandering the streets of St. Louis. Verona Red was due on stage in less than an hour, so the timing wasn't exactly great for Steve's tantrum. There was really nothing to be done about the situation, so everybody just sat around with a beer and waited to see how everything would unfold. Finally, with only a few minutes left before getting on stage, Steve arrived in a much calmer state than he had left. He got on stage with few words. To his credit, despite how emotionally distraught he was, he played the show with nary a hitch or complaint in an admirably professional manner.

After the show was another story.

After the Show

The band that played after Verona Red was quite good. The lead singer looked a bit like the Death Cab guy on his keyboard, but they geared towards a slightly heavier style. While they were playing, we were all enjoying our cheap(ish) beers and talking to people in the crowd. A guy in one of the bands invited us to a house party that they were all going to with free pizza and beer. Never people to turn down free food and drinks and a possible place to stay, we followed them in the newly loaded van a few blocks away from the venue to a little suburban looking neighborhood. When we pulled up to the curb on the side of the house, we could see the bonfire going on in the backyard, as well as about 20 people milling around in conversation. Visually, the house was such that I wouldn't be surprised if all of the party-goers were actual residents, each paying their meager portion of rent from unemployment or panhandling. Nevertheless, people were drinking beers, smoking cigarettes (and other things of perhaps more dubious legality), playing guitars, eating pizza... all the makings of the good times. Each of us ended up going his own way, talking to new people with the eventual hope of shacking up somewhere besides the van or inside on the floor of what I assume to be a sticky and cockroach infested flop house. I mean, I suppose as long as I was able to scout out a small patch of ground not covered in vomit, empty Doritos packages or hypodermic needles it wouldn't have been so terrible. As I drifted in and out of conversations that my friends were engaged in, I noticed that Steve was rather conspicuously keeping a distance from the band members. I made my way towards his conversation to find him berating the other band members and their lack of professionalism during recruitment sessions. He wasn't saying anything too offensive about them personally, just about their attitudes and their cohesiveness as a band. Not wanting to get embroiled in any controversy or unpleasantness, I avoided him for the rest of the night. Everyone ended up failing in their goals, and ended up packing it in at similar times. Thus, we book-ended the tour with our two nights in the van.

And in the End...

I woke up to a sharp rap-tap-tap on the driver's window of the van to see the silhouette of a burly member of St. Louis' finest thankfully blocking some of the early morning light. Chris groggily rolled down the window and bid the policeman a courteous, "Good morning, Officer. What seems to be the problem?" Unlike a lot of Chicago policemen I've run across from time to time, this man seemed easy with a smile and quick with a joke instead of a nightstick. He asked the basic questions about what we were doing, huddled together in a large, hard-to-see-into van with Illinois plates. After informing the officer that we were a band that played a local show last night and made friends with the residents of the adjacent house, the cop then came out with a real zinger: "I thought guys in bands were supposed to get a lot of pussy. Why are you guys all sleeping in a van?" After this blow to our collective ego, I followed the next order to open the side door so he and the other two cops present could better assess the situation. The second cop asked us all if we had identification. We all handed him our IDs and the cop gave an askance look when he got to Adam's Kansas license. "What's up with this Kansas ID, here?" the cop asked, trying to get a handle on the state of affairs. Adam, still half-asleep, blithely mumbled, "It's a fake" as he closed his eyes again. Luckily, they dismissed Adam's sarcasm, though I was ready to slap him if the situation would have degenerated. They seemed to realize that we presented no threat, and told us that the reason they even got involved was that there had been a string of burglaries over the past few weeks in the neighborhood. Completely unsurprised by this news, we thanked the officers. Chris started the engine, and began to drive off, still groggy and half drunk, followed for several blocks by two St. Louis squad cars. We arrived on US Interstate 55 with no further issues, and took the long reflective ride back home to Chicago.

Things I Learned on the Road

1. A lot of random people will allow a group of strangers to sleep in their houses.
2. It's safe to sleep in a room full of meth-heads if they know you are as poor as they are.
3. AAA is completely worth the charge, especially if you're just leeching it off of a family member.
4. The next generation of kids from the South is going to be pretty effed up.
5. British rockers are assholes.
6. Scissor Sisters fans make rednecks very uncomfortable.
7. It has been confirmed - Chicago cops actually are just huge assholes.
8. Doing couch dips to show off how "swoll" you are impresses nobody.
9. If you have a picture taken of you in your boxers it will find its way to the internet.
10. Metallica is as overplayed as it always seems.
11. Pickles will get easy women to make bad decisions.
12. Southern Wal-Marts sell machetes.
13. There is such a thing as Strip Karaoke, and not partaking will be one of my deathbed regrets.
14. Almost everyone we met from the South was incredibly friendly, generous and hospitable, which made the trip pretty amazing.

Now... onto the next adventure!

---