I do not regret never having become a rock ‘n’ roll star, or even just a touring musician. Twice, my friends in Red Autumn Fall took me out on the road with them, and neither time did I thrive. At the band-house in Regina, I tried in vain to find a quiet corner to sleep but one of the two opening bands from Calgary had a pedal-effects guitar wizard who transformed into a Lothario each and every night. His determined efforts to make his mark in Saskatchewan turned the band-house into a brothel, and in the morning I was just happy to have woken up un-sticky and dry.
It was worse in Edmonton, on the second tour. The budget was tight, so we were sleeping two to a bed, and I was tucked in with Richard Ragany (one of the two dicks I’ve discussed here before). Robin Black's first band, Ballroom Zombies, had opened. Black was then still Winnipeg- based, but would shortly move to Toronto where his new band, Robin Black & The Intergalactic Rock Stars, would gain both fame and infamy, in roughly equal measure, as the most hedonistic, yet still cool, band in the city. Around 3 in the morning, Rich and I were abruptly awakened by Robin Black. He wasn't even staying on the same floor as us. Yet here he was, standing on the foot of our double bed. He was naked, except for a pair of black, thong panties. He was gyrating suggestively while singing, as loudly as he had just sung on stage. It was a song he had just made up and it went, “Hey, Panty Boy! Hey, Panty Boy!” (He was riffing on my bedmate's band's recently penned song "The Revenge of the Blazer Boys.")
When, two years later, I found that I had accidentally become Robin Black’s roommate, it was a relief to know that I wasn’t going to see a whole bunch of junk that I hadn’t feasted my eyes on already. The rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. I just was never cut out for it.