merch table memories
Hey, speaking of merchandise. We had such a ball touring with the Bottle Rockets, and before we ink a deal with Overstock.com, we want to give you opportunity to own a commemorative Chuck Prophet/Bottle Rockets poster. Our man John Wiseman at Ocho Loco made each and every one by hand with loving care.
Memories fade, love dies, but an Ocho Loco poster lasts forever. And yes, they make great gifts. Only $25.00. It's probably too late for Christmas, but if you buy one today we'll gift wrap it at no additional cost. I'll even make it easy for you.
Check out the poster and place your order here: http://www.bellesound.com/shop_9.html
Speaking of merch table memories, lately I've been a little off my game and there have been times Stephie says, "Maybe you could skip going out there tonight?" And I'm all... "Yeah, but I just bought a new Sharpie." "Yeah," she says, "but I'm not sure you're really helping things so much." So I put my Sharpie away and update my Instagram backstage.
Here's some highlights of recent comments:
"So, would you consider doing a Green on Red reunion?"
"I like to buy the records straight from the artist. So they can get the money. Plus, you guys are getting hosed by all the damned illegal downloading, right?"
"Do you take Discover?"
Then there's the guy who came up with a Green On Red LP from 1985. Wanted a signature. Dan Stuart has already scrawled "This man has no chin" and drawn an arrow pointing towards Chris Cacavas's picture. I take out my Sharpie and pull the cap off with my teeth. Holding the cap in my mouth I write under Dan's image: "This man has in excess of three chins at last count." I snap the cap back on the Sharpie and walk away feeling pretty good.
Green On Red was never an organization for sensitive people. Insults were our preferred mode of communication. Collectors aren't happy until they have the whole band's collective signature. They track us down at obscure gigs. House parties in South Dakota.
Then a woman. Always the women. "Is there something going on between you and the girl playing the keyboard..." Yes, I confess, we've started dating.
Bring on the Career Consultants: "Tell your manager you should play at the Bait and Tackle Store. Or at Cake Counter. Those are the places everyone goes."
Oh and, here comes the guy whose phone I confiscated during the show. I grabbed it like a monkey grabs food. He wants to apologize. "I was only trying to send a picture to a sick friend in New Zealand who couldn't make the show." He's having too much fun now to stop.
An old drummer friend shows up and starts in about his new gig. I say, "That sounds cool." And he says, "Yes, it's good. I have nothing to complain about. I'm blessed. Real blessed, Chuck."
Maybe I'm blessed too, but don't know it.
Backstage, Instagram updated, I pick up a magazine and pretend to read it. Stephie is raking in the merch dosh hand over fist (I like to imagine), and everyone else is on their phones.
I know you're reading this thinking I'm some kind of asshole. (Please don't write and tell me which kind.) Hey, I have gratitude. Hell, people give me gifts. Chocolates and things. So I guess I am blessed after all.
There I said it.
Sometimes I don't know what to say to people. I mean, I'd be lost without them. Parking cars and washing dishes... or worse, go back to taking college classes. So, thanks guys. If you're reading this. I love you.
Plus it was a pretty healthy night. The Merch seller the club provided so Stephie could go eat her salad pressed a stack of sweaty 20's into my hands. #No filter. #Blessed. . . .