Riders on the Storm
It starts with a sickly, warm gust that smells like dusty, dry, hot soil, dead seaweed and whatever other scents the downburst has picked up in its rush across the surface of the Earth.
The song stops immediately. A lot of cursing and a mad dash to secure the most sensitive (expensive) gear ensues. Flaps get dropped around the sides and back. The front of the stage is wide open. It is difficult to secure that large of an opening with a tarp—the wind rips the eyelets right out.
The super large plastic bags get pulled from the rain box. They are large enough to fit over the mixer table, the Marshall 1/4 stack and the PA speakers. The smaller gear gets wet.
Then the air turns cool and the wind gusts with authority, wrecking any feeble attempts at securing the stage from the incoming rain. The plastic bags have to be tied, or the wind catches underneath and blows them away. The merchandise stand blows over— that’s why most of the items are in single-serve plastic bags. Thank science for plastic bags.
Rain coming down is one thing; rain blowing in is another beast. Too much of anything can spoil a good time like a gentle afternoon breeze that turns all psycho in the evening.
That first smell of the fast-approaching deluge means I gambled and lost with the fickle summer weather on a Saturday night. I have to choose correctly which stage (inside/outside) 3 hours before show time. Future cast isn’t always as accurate as I hoped it would be but compared to 2010, radar and satellite imagery is coming along.
Even with all the information available, in the Keys, the weather often forms right on top of us. Sun showers are refreshing but they seem to get angrier every year. Nothing like the thrill of a 22” ride cymbal blowing over and cutting a guitar cable in half mid-song. Every Keys entertainer has multiple stories of the wind, rain and gear filled with water.
The secret is to kill the power immediately. If a piece of gear gets wet with rainwater, it still has a chance to dry out as long as it doesn’t get plugged in too soon after exposure.
The other problem on our Saturday night is a downpour quickly overwhelms the drainage system and the 1-2 inches of rain in 10 minutes turns into a river across the stage, leaving a layer of silt from the pea rock parking lot.
The moat that prevents the water from flowing onto the stage seems to naturally fill with pea rock as bands haul gear on and off the stage and the fore and aft drain holes fill with the debris from the royal poinciana tree that shades the stage.
The cursing isn’t at the weather; it’s picking the wrong stage. If we set up inside and it turns out to be a beautiful night, everyone hangs out outside and our tip bucket moans the blues.
On the other hand, if we’re outside and it turns evil, everyone goes inside and the tip bucket fills with water. It often feels like damned if we do, damned if we don’t. If every night was great, we wouldn’t know it without a bad night for reference.
That’s an aggravating way to look at things. When things are no longer groovy, I am highly aware of the bummer even if I don’t know exactly what it is that’s messing up the vibe. It would be great to know cool without having to experience hassle but that would be utopia, not this planet.
The real disappointment is missing out on being a part of the fun. The band is left outside drying off gear while we can hear the party continuing on inside without us.
Also, setting up all the toys and not being allowed to play with them very long before having to put them away is a drag.
“Why don’t you just carry everything inside?”
If you get the evil eye for asking that question, it’s because it took two and a half hours to set up the outside show. That and 60+ years that would have killed an ordinary man, doesn’t move like it did when it was in its 50s.
Mother Nature will show one hand then play from the other. It’s hard not to cuss the weather, the gods and/or anything else that fucks up an otherwise smooth operation.
My dad was great at cussing things out, Mom always told him us kids would act just like him…
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