So, I met Mastodon! And didn’t that, in itself, give me more game? Yes, it did. Other people I spoke to afterwards are thoroughly impressed to see me in a photo with them. I made many friends. It’s like their fame has carried through me and made me popular. Totally worth the 240 US dollars I paid for it. A slight bit of cynicism in that comment. This is far and away the most expensive thing I have ever bought myself, aside from a one-way plane ticket to Europe.But still, you have to respect them, they are rockstars. Famous, but likely not rich. Things are not the way they used to be in the music industry. I heard that after expenses, Devin Townsend makes roughly equal to what I make. But although I am bringing joy to people who need a toilet, or water for various purposes, I can’t repay Mastodon enough for the amount of joy they have given to my life, these musicians. All the good times with my friends, jamming out to their tunes, partying, drinking, singing along. Sitting in traffic with the music blaring. Driving along to Leviathan with all my friends in the back, tripping on LSD. Wait, what? Never mind.
Also they did give us a good amount of time to talk with them. About half an hour. There wasn’t too many people at the Meet and Greet, only about 10. I think if they made it affordable, everyone would be doing it. So this is also a way to deter the masses for coming along, and being able to spend some real time with their fans in the little spare time that they have between sleeping, being on the bus, eating, whatever humans do. They were super nice, as they could be I guess, meeting total strangers like me. I didn’t know what to say to them, really, after everything. They are strangers. It’s weird, after all these years, and all the things I have considered saying to them, it all flushed out of my head. I just stood in awe of it all, and I was the quietest person there, according to the lady running it.
I bought the ticket one night on the way home from the pub, I was a bit drunk. I had just alienated myself from a group of people who ran a fundraiser that night to fight fracking. I did not donate any money, not because I don’t believe in their cause, which I don’t, but because I missed most of the performance. I was going around asking people if they used natural gas to heat their homes. They all did, but seemed to believe that gas should be sourced by some ethical means, and not by fracking. It was up to the government to come up with some other way for them to heat their homes, while in the meantime, just exploit the gas, same as the rest of the developed world. Something like that. Not the exact words, but that is my summary of the various comments. Anyway, I was scrolling Facebook on my way to the unethical, non-vegan chicken shop, and I bought this ticket on a drunken whim, waking up the next day wondering if I had been robbed by some type of marketing scam. Anyway, it was no joke, and here I am in Manchester, freezing my literal ass off, about to meet a band which I have adored for over ten years.
I was told to be there no later than three. And I got there 10 minutes early. That was a mistake. It was really cold. I woke up in the morning and it’s fucking snowing. I stood outside the doors for 25 minutes, freezing my tits off, and finally they let us in. There was already a soundcheck going on, but the woman tells us, don’t worry, it’s only the support band. Red Fang. We are told a few things. First we are going to watch the sound check. Then we are going to get to talk to the band, and do some photos. We are given a poster each, and a signed set list. We are told then, the sound check is a very personal thing for the band, please do not take any photos or recordings. We can take as many photos as we like after that, but not during. We have the whole venue to ourselves, so we can leave our coats and bags where we please. The other thing to note is that as soon as we get inside the door, all I can smell is dope. The smell is overwhelming. It is like the security have just smoked a fat joint just inside the door right before letting us in.
So were inside the staged area now, and there are roadies getting around, gear laying all over the floor on the right hand side of the room, which appears quite small when empty. Mastodon are nowhere to be seen but I am sure they are hanging around somewhere. We are told we can watch the soundcheck from wherever we choose. So most of us go right down the front. Soon Brann comes on the stage and waves to everyone hello, we all wave back. He sits at his kit and starts doing a bit of warm ups on the toms and hats. Next Brent and Troy arrive. The young guys at the front both say “hi Brent!” in unison. He says “hey guys, how are you doing?”, very casual. The wander over from stage right to stage left, and disappear again. Brann continues with his warm ups, but has a look on his face as if he’s waiting for something. The lady comes over to us now, saying there is a change of plan. Instead we are going to do the talking, signing and pictures first followed by the soundcheck. All good with us! A minute later Brann Dailor is standing next to me talking to an older gentleman and what appears to be his son. I don’t have much to say to him right now. I am a bit stunned that he is standing next to me and I wonder what I was going to say anyhow?? The middle-aged man has a lot to sign, he is talking shit about who Brann is signing for. He asks him generic questions like, how the tour is going. The tour is going really well. That conversation was a dead end. He asks him to sign another item. I wonder how much time we have to talk to the band, while he is wasting my minutes talking some crap about nothing, and getting him to sign a heap of stuff for relatives who are not there. Well, I guess we have all paid top dollar for this experience, so I try to be patient. After a time, I get a word in.
“Hi, Brann!”
“It’s Brann,” he corrects me. I realise I have said it wrong. I try to ignore my embarrassment.
“You’re really tall!” I blurt out. Is that the best you can do, Joel? I wonder.
“Yep!” Brann says. “I’ve been tall my whole life. Nobody understands the struggle.”
“I feel your pain”. Ok, now I am talking. I want to ask how old his tattoos are on his arm. They look really faded and blurry. It’s something I had never noticed before. Looking at them now, up close, I think they are at least 20 years old. I wonder when was the last time I saw his tattoos on film. I have never seen them up close like this. I thought he had a sleeve on that arm. I am now staring at him not saying anything again. The old man starts talking again, it’s like he’s not even a fan. It annoys me that he is here, wasting my time with Brann Dailor. His son is standing there, silent.
“I am from Australia,” I try to say something. This is painful. I could have asked him so many things. Or told him some usual fan stuff about how I really loved the drums on Trampled Underhoof and listened to the track on repeat at high volume for many days in a row in my car. But I don’t. Still, he is making proper conversation with me, about my mundane life in comparison to his. I believe the other man has made a joke about me coming all the way here from Australia for the concert. Brann is laughing along. I am annoyed again, it is a stupid joke. I laugh for a minute and then correct him by saying I live in London.
“So why did you come to the UK?” Brann asks.
“I am just here to travel, really.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About a year.”
“So are you working?”
“Yes, I work in London.”
“What are you doing there?”
“I am a plumber.”
Now I am surprised Brann is making such an effort to talk to me, with this boring small talk. I can’t believe how hard I am finding it to get the words out as well. I really want to talk about something more interesting. I want to pick his brains, instead of telling him about me, I am sure he won’t remember. Upon reflection, I should have told him I do comedy, and play music as well, and how I wanted to make myself memorable to them all by making them laugh, and then they would invite me back stage afterwards for beers. But in this moment my mind has gone blank, it is completely failing me. I don’t feel nervous, I don’t get so nervous now after doing comedy, with the high heart rate and sweaty palms, but my mind still goes to pulp. I manage to think of a question for him now, the best I can do, and change the subject.
“So what’s the most interesting thing you have seen on tour?”
“The most interesting thing? Hmm, I don’t know. I went to the Ann Frank house in Amsterdam on our day off.”
“Cool, I went there last year actually.”
“Yeah? It was weird being there. It’s hard to imagine being stuck in that room for so long, and then being discovered as well.”
“Yeah, it’s really sad. Horrible.”
And with that, the band members change groups. The three others were over there talking to groups of two or three. All of a sudden Brann has moved away, and Brent Hinds has approached us. Now I have to sit through a repeat of the man and son with the signing and all that crap. Brent is really nice as well, he is also quite chatty and amicable, despite being obviously tired. The man asks him how the tour is going, as if he needs to hear it from all parties involved. I recall this is the English way of saying hello, to ask how you are doing, without actually wanting to hear the answer. I say "Hi Brent!" Not dissimilar to how the boys up front said it to him on stage. He says hi, nice to meet you, and shakes my hand.
“My name is Joel, and I am from Australia!” I say with a bit more confidence. I don’t realise that I am also on repeat. I leave it at that. Next minute a young man comes over, he is wearing a cap. I spoke to him early on outside about selling an extra ticket. He suggested I sell it online, on the event page. And that’s what I nearly did, but more about that later. He has brought a personal item for Brent to sign. It’s like he has left whoever he was with, to come to our group and interrupt our fucking chat because he can’t wait his turn. It is a little poster with a picture on it, some artist I don’t know. He is all polite, like, “Hi Brent, I brought this along, I really love this guy, it would mean a lot if you could sign it for me, blah blah blah.” Brent said he really loves this artist too, and of course he will sign it. I wonder why I didn’t bring a sharpie so they could sign some of my shit as well, but we already got a signed set list. And I didn’t bring any shit to sign. How many signatures do I really need? It doesn’t mean much to me, signatures. I realise I haven’t asked for a photo. Signed items will probably be sold years down the track, a photo is worthless for money, so to me, means more. I asked the boy if he would take our photo, and he says yes, in a minute, before going on his spiel about the poster. I realised that I did not ask for a photo with Brann, and don’t want to miss this opportunity as well. I am really impatient. I wonder again how much time we will have, now that I spent about 5 minutes with Brann I realise it is going to be quite limited. But I feel like we would have more time if I kept the conversation more interesting instead of letting it hang. I impatiently interrupt their conversation after he has done the signing of the poster and ask again about the photo, but the boy ignores me this time. So I wait for another minute, seems to take forever while they chat about some artist I don’t know. The boy takes a few photos, while Brent chats to the middle aged man I think. I try to tell Brent that I was obsessed with Blood Mountain, and I have been a long time fan, but it’s like he’s not really listening. He doesn’t have much to say about that. The photos I have taken sort of show his vacancy in that moment. He is not looking at the camera in any of them. He is looking down at the floor, like he is in his own world, away from here. Like an object.
I think I asked him something like “Is touring still fun? Or is it the same old stuff by now?” He attempts to answer the question, but I think it’s a bit of a hard question. He says something like, “No, it’s good” or something.
"After this, I notice that people have moved already, and now I am still with Brent, and he hasn’t really talked much to me, but we took a photo, and I couldn’t think of much interesting stuff to say to him. I could have asked him some more questions, but nothing came to mind. Which is completely fucked up. I should have told him about my favourite solos of his, which are numerous. Or how I think that Mastodon is one of only a few bands to release consecutive records which are greater than the last. Even record has become a favourite. Some not from first listen, but it grows on me over time, until it becomes a part of my mind, same as the last. I wish I had told him how completely different his own playing style is from mine, and hearing it made me question everything I knew about guitar so far. But I sort of just enjoyed having them there for a minute. Just smiling and chatting and being himself. But I didn’t say any of that. I want to leave him now, because I feel like he is more focused on other people, so as soon as I see an opening, I go and talk to Troy, after two guys leave him there by himself.
I walk right up to him and say “Hi Troy, I am Joel, from Australia.” Joel, stuck on the same ice breaker. We have a similar small talk type of chat about why I am here and where, similar to with Brann but this time it clicks in my fuzzy brain that I don’t want to do that again. I am really stuck on repeat. I am struck by his height as well, he stands over me, he must be 6’3” or 6’4”.
“You are really tall! I didn’t imagine you would be so tall.”
“Yes, that’s true.” I can’t believe this is coming out of my mouth again. He gave me a quizzical look.
“My friend said he knew someone who met you and said you’re all giants.”
“Friendly giants, I think.”
“Yes, definitely.”
“I am really excited about seeing the show, I haven’t seen you guys since you did Soundwave festival in Sydney when you did “The Hunter”>
“Wow, that’s quite a while ago now.”
“Yeah, it is! I have seen you 3 times now, I saw you that time, and missed the next time you came to Australia. It was funny, when you did Megalodon, my friend started rolling a cigarette, and he was holding his beer like this (in the crook of his arm), and then the break down came, and I said ‘man!! Put it away!’ and he didn’t notice, and then..”
“He lost it all,” Troy says with a smirk.
“Yep!” I laughed, “he lost everything."
I could have told him as well about Killer Be Killed, and how I saw him there as well but I forget. Now I wish I made notes of questions to ask them, but I didn’t imagine my mind would turn to moosh, worse than the first time I plucked up the courage to ask a girl out on a date. I get a photo with him as well. He puts his arm around me, unlike Brent who just stood there. I do a selfie with Troy. And after that, cap boy is back asking about this same fucking poster he wants everyone to sign, he is following me around like a bad smell. So admitting to myself that my time is running out, I did go over and say hello to Bill as well at some point. Lucky last.
“Hi, Bill, how are you?”
“I’m good, man, how about you?”
“I’m great!”
I think this time I asked him about the tour as well. I ask him how many times he has been around the world now, "it must be a few!”
“Yeah, it’s a few alright.” He laughs.
I can’t remember what else I said to him. It occurred to me that I have the least amount of things to say to Bill. He seems very old. He is the oldest member, in his late forties. Troy looks the youngest, in spite of being completely grey. I try to save face from my silence.
“I’m really a bit star struck, to be honest.”
“You shouldn’t be, were all people,” Bill says.
“Yeah, but you guys are like, amazing.” I say something like this. I can’t remember at this point what else I have said to Bill. But the time was up, that I remember. Because I ask about a photo, but everyone is moving again, and I comment I didn’t get a photo with Brann either. The lady has appeared again, and she says, that’s ok, we are going to do photos with everyone standing with the whole band now anyway. I said ok then. But now I wish I had of demanded a few more seconds to get a photo with Brann and Bill because I paid 240 fucking US dollars for this experience, and I want to make the most of it! But my mind is moosh. You just let it happen, like when that girl you asked out says “I am busy this week, but maybe we can hang out next week, add me on Facebook."
But Bill has moved now, and the band are standing against the boundary, and it’s time for photos before they do their soundcheck.
“So! Who is going to be first?” The lady asks. “How about you?” She looks at me. “You’ve been the quietest so far, you can go first.”
Ok, I say, and I am first.
“Can you give me your phone then? To take the photo.”
“Of course!” My mind is really gone. I hand her my phone, everyone is looking at me, like I should have thought of it.
I stand in the middle of them all, Brent and Troy on my left, Bill and Brann on my left.
“I really like his outfit,” Brent comments.
“Yeah, me too, it’s good when people make an effort, unlike everyone else, just wearing whatever, you know..” Troy says.
“Thanks, guys,” I say. I am smiling so hard, I can feel it, as strong a smile as I can do, and I can’t hold it back for this photo. Normally for photos I am trying to pull a false one, but this time I am really beaming.
“He’s all about the purple,” Brent continues, “Purple pants, purple shirt, purple boots.”
“I am really loving the purple today,” I say with a laugh. How about that? A compliment from Mastodon. That doesn’t happen every day.
I watch everyone else have their photos and then the lady says it’s time for soundcheck, trying to hurry everything along. Bill and Troy disappear to back stage, while Brann and Brent are lingering behind, still talking to people. I feel like going up and asking more questions. But I relent for some reason. I feel like they are going to fly at any minute. They don’t seem too bothered, still having a laugh with a couple of fans. So I go up to Brent.
“Hey, Brent, just quickly, why did you tattoo your head?”
“For this moment, right here.” I laugh somehow too hard at this remark. I seriously don’t know what is wrong with me today. I am not behaving anywhere close to normal. It’s like when I was a teenager talking to a woman. Either silent or sounding completely stupid. But I am glad I asked him this question, it was something I imagined earlier: to ask him a question where he can give one of his regular smart-ass answers I have seen him give in so many interviews. Like a promotional video about his amps.
“What do you like most about Orange amps?”
“I just use them because (some older rockstar) uses them, I don’t think there is anything remarkable about them really.” Something like that.
The woman reminds them it’s time for soundcheck. One more fan asks for a photo with Brent. Brent says “Ok, let’s do a selfie. Show yourselfie”, and everyone laughs ridiculous like a bunch of yes-men. It really wasn’t that funny, I feel. But I suppose I am a hypocrite, because I just laughed way too hard at something which wasn’t even intended to be funny. We are all like a group of love-drunk groupies.
They get their stuff instruments on for the soundcheck. Brann and Brent start jamming out something basic. Troy lazily joins in, plucking one or two notes. Bill is tuning. They then bang into “Sultan’s Curse.” Troy sings the first part. Brent goes over to his mic stand, and it is too high. He has to adjust it himself while playing. He goes to sing in the mic but we can’t hear anything. He continues singing the whole verse, completely silent. They bang out the rest of the tune, and Brent doesn’t bother to sing the rest of his parts. The cap boy has taken a photo of the band playing almost straight away in the song, even though we have been told not to take any photos.
At the end of the song, a roadie goes over and fiddles with he stand. We can’t hear them chatting for a moment. Then all of a sudden the mic is working at ludicrous volume in a silent hall. Much louder than it needs to be, I would think. Now I see, Brent is berating the roadie about the position of the mic stand and everyone can hear him.
“Every time I have to move it this happens, and the mic stand is always fucking up here, you know, I have to move it.”
“I’m sorry,” says the roadie, “it’s my fault, I did not mark it.” He walks off stage right.
Next thing, Brann counts in and the band start playing a song which I have never heard. It seems to be something unreleased. About halfway through the song, cap boy gets his phone out like the dull spark he is, and starts actually filming the song, even though we have been told not to record anything. And now it seems to be clear exactly why they do not want anyone filming, they have a treat for us, a possibly unreleased song. The woman rushes over after a few seconds, and pushes his phone down, yelling in his ear, over the noise, not to film. A few seconds later, as I am watching Troy, or Bill, or perhaps looking down at my feet for a minute, Brent has stopped playing and put his guitar down, and walked off stage. I hadn’t noticed it happen until he was gone, as then the whole band stops playing, and Troy hurried off after Brent. The other two look a bit mystified as to what has happened. A minute later Troy returns and speaks to them, and then leaves the stage again. Bill goes after him. Brann comes up to Troy’s mic, I think sheepishly, but trying to appear confident and humorous.
“Well, guys, that’s it. Thanks for coming. This is how every soundcheck goes. We play one song, and then we play half of another song, and then once we get feedback, Brent leaves. So uh, that’s all.." He says goodbye with a wave, and leaves stage as well.
At the time I didn’t quite think about it, perhaps because I was still in stunned mullet mode, just taking it in somehow without any real thoughts going on inside. I thought perhaps the boy would be kicked out and then they would return. But he didn’t. I guess I didn’t want to believe it, but now I think it’s pretty clear that dumbass in the cap has ruined it for everyone. Brent has appeared like a bit of a diva but I think that he was actually angry at the fuck head, who has been told in no uncertain terms not to film any of the soundcheck or take photos. They have played a special song for us, and in some show of complete disrespect, he has tried to film the fucking thing. Maybe he didn’t know it was a new song. He’s not as big of a fan as some of us, who are familiar with their entire catalogue. I can’t understand now why he was there either. But the show is over, and the lady is escorting us now to the side door, which opens directly outside. It is apparently sleeting now. Brilliant. I stuff my poster and set list up inside my jacket and head out into the freezing wet.