Don't let him see you

One of the cool things about a career in journalism is access. You quite often find yourself standing next to people almost everyone else only sees on television. That includes musicians. Usually newspapers only want some sort of review on a concert or maybe a report on the event some entertainers can create. A lot more goes on that you only catch with an all-access pass. These are some of my favorites to repeat. And repeat.

I was assigned to cover a stadium concert with Chicago and The Beach Boys. But my deadline was somewhere likely in the middle of the first set. It was kind of a small paper, so they asked me to "fake it." Without definition.
As I wondered around backstage pre-show, I noticed they'd taped Chicago's play list at different stage positions. So, I stole one. I could at least note favorites played, even if I didn't get to hear them.
But I needed as much from The Beach Boys. They had a dressing trailer behind the stage. So when they all stepped out to see the stage set up, I sneaked in.
And laid out along the tables inside was the longest trail of colorful pills and gleaming powders I'd ever encountered in my life. I decided getting caught could suggest pilfering more than a piece of paper, and split.

Another stadium concert, this time with Willie Nelson. Backstage was relaxed and gentle before the show. And as The Family as Willie calls them walked onstage, a jacket on one waved open and revealed half the biggest revolver I'd ever seen stuffed in the pants of one of the musicians. How he played and didn't think about something going off, I'd never guess.

A somewhat overly sentimental musician named Richard Marx (now a major producer, by the way) came to a smaller stadium, a high school football field. It was the kind of music 14-year-old girls and 50-year-old Moms can sway too. The band came out to do a sound check and crawled through a hit. And then broke into a Led Zepplin tune that was simply on fire. "Shit yeah," Marx said and went back to a trailer to blow dry his hair. The Zepplin tune didn't get into the show.

Michael Martin Murphy was perfecting a cowboy ballads show. I was the only person at the Florida paper who knew who he was, having already made my Austin affinity well known.
I'd had my wisdom teeth removed, but still soldiered on - with a head full of Vicodin for the pain. Murphy has a reputation for sometimes being prickly, but I was bulletproof. About all I remember was arguing with him about the merits of his latest Top 40 stuff versus the Cosmic Cowboy stuff I enjoyed. He endured me.

Arlo Guthrie holds an annual benefit concert in Florida for the Indian River that runs along the coast inside the barrier islands. This show was Arlo, Michael McDonald who'd just left the Doobie Brothers and solo act Don Henley after The Eagles.
Backstage was like a hippie fest, flowing dresses and lots of food and drink and some smoke floating around. But mostly it was comfortable. Arlo and McDonald standing around with anyone and everyone telling jokes.
Then, suddenly, it all changed. Everyone was sectioned off, plywood was put up from the back of the area to the stage creating a corridor. A limo pulled up. Seems Henley didn't want to be gazed upon as he mounted his throne.

Applied Materials used to hold concerts for employees and friends in the tech heyday. Once was the Go-Gos, for example. But another was Stevie Wonder.
I ran late and for some reason they locked the doors. I kept circling the Erwin Center until I found an open loading area and then just kept walking forward. About halfway there, someone finally stopped me and I identified myself as lost press. He shook his head and said to follow.
We stopped once to review the coast as clear and I realized the room he'd stashed me in was the back up band. They filtered out and my guide retrieved me. We moved into semi-darkness and I realized we were backstage Erwin.
We came upon a group of people and the guide stopped me with a strong grip on my arm and gave me a shush sign. "Let's pray," someone said. It was the band doing a pre-show prayer. The guy next to me began the prayer and the voice suddenly struck me - it was Stevie Wonder. They broke and moved on stage and we to the wings. "That was close," my guide said. "If Stevie had seen you, he'd have been pissed." I just looked at him and let him think it through.