Journal Journey
Week 18: 01 May 2016
First, full disclosure: I don’t have a journal entry to point to for today’s post. I just have this poster and the following story:
29 April 1992
Four of us piled into my roommate’s car and headed west on I-10, destination: Houston. Why? Great question. But the answer is an unprecedented lineup, where two tours we were dying to see were coming together to share a stage for a few nights in Texas. Jake, Sean, Ken and I were not going to miss that.
Thanks to some connections I had made at V-89, I was able to get four tickets to see Monster Magnet, Swervedriver, Pearl Jam, and Soundgarden at The Unicorn. Once I heard we were on the guest list (thanks, Jay), we started plotting our trip.
To remind you about the context at the time, grunge was just about to get huge. Seriously. To say I was a fan is a bit of an understatement. I still remember my first Soundgarden show vividly. (03 February 1990, with Voivod and The Big F, at the Cuban Club in Tampa). The Temple of the Dog album had been released almost exactly a year earlier, so hopes were high that we would witness one of the rare supergroup appearances. But this post isn’t about that show. It’s about a surprise show we just happened to stumble upon the night before.
After getting settled at our hotel, we started scouring the alternative weeklies to find some food recommendations, and maybe a movie to see. As I was flipping through the pages, I came across an ad that sent chills down my spine.
“Guys, Kiss is playing a club here tonight.”
Now, as someone who’s had the same Ace Frehley icon as my avatar for almost every online presence I’ve had for almost a decade, there was no way I was going to pass this up. Sure Ace had left the band long ago, but seeing childhood icons in a club not much bigger than ones I was playing in was not something I was going to pass up. Without tickets, however, I had no idea how we were going to get in.
I talked the guys into heading to the club anyway. When we got there, I basically said, “Let me do all he talking.” Sean had heard something similar before, so he was immediately skeptical.
We got to the door of The Backstage to find a line of eager Kiss fans excitedly holding tickets. Some were in makeup, others in Kiss shirts from decades ago, everyone waiting patiently to see their heroes in a tiny, completely sold out venue.
How in the hell was I going to get us in there?
I started toward the entrance, more confidently than I felt, Jake, Sean, and Ken in tow. Maneuvering my way past the mass of people who had been standing in line for hours to make sure they got a great spot in the general admission venue, I pushed my way to the front of the line and asked the security guard at the door where we could find the guest list. He pointed over his left shoulder to a woman at a podium just inside the doors that had just recently opened. People were jostling each other, trying to get their tickets torn as quickly as possible so they could slip through this bottleneck and head to the front of the stage. It was more than a bit chaotic.
“Guest list?” I asked.
“Name?” she enquired.
“Uh, Stephen Fox, plus three,” I responded as poker-faced as possible.
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“Nope, I don’t see that,” was her obvious reply.
“Huh, really? Can you check under one of their names?” I pleaded.
We went through all our names again. Alternative spellings, possible nicknames, a couple of on-air monikers. Nothing. Of course.
“Sorry,” she said flatly.
“We drove all the way from Tallahassee, Florida, just to see this show,” I lied. I really wanted to get in. “Cheryl Valentine was supposed to put us on the list,” I continued the façade.
Now, Cheryl’s wasn’t a name I just pulled out of the ether. Thanks to my work at V-89, I had access to more than just WVFS alumni who landed full-time gigs at record labels post-graduation. I talked to at least a dozen labels and promotion companies every week in my role as Metal Director. I had a great relationship with Cheryl, who was with Mercury Records at the time, and I knew either way, this was going to make for a funny anecdote next time we spoke.
“Oh, Cheryl? She’s here. Let me see if I can get her.”
I stood there completely dazed.
“Great,” I muttered, wondering if this reality was going to be our ticket in or the beginning of a ruined music industry career.
The doorway by this point was heading toward entropy — people pushing passed us, club employees hollering questions about why we were in the way, a late Pepsi delivery trying to squeeze by. The guest list line behind us was also growing, and this guest list guardian was noticing the escalating impatience from the people behind us. Glancing over her shoulders, she finally leaned toward me and whispered, “Just go in. And don’t tell anybody.”
If I thought I was dazed before, I had know idea what to call this feeling.
“Thank you,” I silently mouthed as I slipped by her podium. Looking over my shoulder to the rest of the gang, eyebrows raised, I gave them a couple of “follow me” nods, and in we went.
This isn’t the time or place for a full review. Although I’ve been a Kiss fan since I was six, this was only my second Kiss show. Despite it not including the lineup that inspired me, and without the makeup that attracted me, it was still Kiss. In a club. The size of some of the ones I called home.
It was magic.
The next night, we witnessed one of the best Soundgarden sets I’ve ever seen. Pearl Jam was equally great, but they did that a lot more consistently at the time. We were even treated to the Temple of the Dog collaboration we had all been hoping for. The whole trip was stunning. I excitedly told Cheryl the entire saga the next time we spoke. It was one of those journeys that stays with you, obviously, for decades. She thought it was great, but was a little mad that I didn’t try harder to find her to say hi.
Trips like that don’t happen all the time. Following something you love. Finding out how to travel with your friends. Discovering new aspects about yourself. Learning that it never hurts to ask.
Especially if you know a Cheryl.
