JIZZY PEARL TOUR DIARY
Jizzy Pearl is currently travelling all over North America on the Rock Never Stops tour, fronting Ratt as they tour with Quiet Riot, Firehouse, and headliners Cinderella. Whenver he feels compelled to do so, Jizzy will be sending us updates from the road.
Number nine… number nine…
White Russians. Vodka, Kahlua & cream. We call them Caucasians from the movie The Big Lubowski. They are cunning, devious in their simplicity but lethal when they catch up to you. All I remember from the after show party was accusing a Jewish friend of mine of working for the Mossad. The morning after was nonsense, wrecked, heaped up on the shore like the bloated carcass of a beached whale.
This is no way to be People, drunk every night, no responsibilities, no rhyme or reason…but this is what it is, week 9 and the road burn is setting in. 9 weeks of being on a submarine with farts, bad jokes, bad breath, stinky feet and most of all NO PRIVACY. I know I said I would try to stay positive, I know I said that…I get e-mails, don’t bitch they say, I would give my left nut to do what you do they say, you’re so lucky etc..yeah, I am lucky, I’m Irish and I was born on March 17th which makes me the Mick Messiah but that doesn’t mean my head and my ass aren’t hurting…
Shea’s, an old theatre in the heart of downtown. The gig was good, the attendance was light. Our shows have for the most part been well-attended, Cinderella did not overestimate what they could do, we are not playing stadiums with 17 people crowded behind home plate. Usually we do between 3 or 4 thousand, sometimes more, sometimes less. After the show we went to Freddie’s Hot Spot (so-called because of the flaming logo on the front and the horrible wine-in-the-box) I watched Corabi and Crane and others get up and jam with the local 80’s cover band. I always take this time to point to Robbie and say “Take a look at your future Dude”, the Bar Band from Hell, playing Everybody’s Workin’ for the Weekend 6 shows a week for Eternity. Trying to hold on to your thinning hair, squeezing into your stretched leathers, wearing bigger and bigger shirts to cover your beer gut. Fuck, just kill me now and save me the trouble.
My home town, a toddlin’ town. The gig was very good, outdoors near the marina and Lake Michigan beyond. Warren had his entire family out, nieces and nephews by the score and naturally they all wanted to hang on our bus. I suppose when you’ve never been on a rock bus it’s pretty cool but having 50 people tramp into your living room to watch your toilet flush was a little much. We went outside in the parking lot and were promptly rousted by the local park police. Then we went to a VIP tent and were subsequently kicked out 15 minutes later. I was flummoxed, the drive to Milwaukee was only 90 miles away and we were scheduled to stay here all night…where to go? My bus was full of amateur drunks, no chance I’m going back in there. Some people invited me to go out on their boat and such was my desire to get away from all the nonsense that I hurriedly accepted. You see I hate boats and I hate water, call it hydro-phobia. Fear of sharks, fear of algae, fear of stinging biting wrap-around-your-leg-and-pull-you-under-kind of shit. I must have seen Jaws too many times in my youth. We walked and walked and walked all the way around the marina, walked myself sober until we finally reached the guy’s boat. We got on and he opened up a $400 bottle of red, to allay my fears no doubt. As we putted around the marina at 5 MPH I thought “This isn’t too bad, I can handle this…” I think our captain had too much to drink, we ended up in a corner and he attempted to reverse the boat out, slamming into expensive yachts moored left and right. I remember not being afraid then, actually I was thinking Fuck the Rich, fuck their million dollar yachts and their $400 bottles and their lifestyle and their money. Someone’s gonna wake up tomorrow and be pissed. We got out on the open water and he floored the fucking thing, I was in the back near the engine, trying to stay cool, trying not to turn green as we swerved left and right, bumping over walls of water. The girl next to me was laughing and whooping it up, no doubt she too worked for the Mossad. We were going out on the lake, the deep dark wine dark sea, blasting Alice in Chains, not a life preserver in sight, the Chicago skyline getting further and further away. Finally we stopped and bobbed in the open water, I was high off the wine and actually thought how cool it was, the sky, the stars, clinking glasses like Kings. Some guy undressed and went into the water “It’s WARM!” he said, bobbing up and down. Yes it’s warm but the tetanus shot you’ll need tomorrow will be cold, cold and cruel. I was waiting for a blue tentacle to wrap itself around the guy’s neck and drag him under a la` Creepshow but he lived…
The Wisconsin State Fair. Foodfest, animal husbandry, bands & beer. I have never in my life seen so much unhealthy food in one place, two-foot corn dogs bleeding ketchup, a mountain of freshly fried potato chips, nachos, everything fried, deep fried. I had to stop and stare when I saw the deep fried candy bars. Snickers and Milky Way, deep fucking fried and served hot. Deep-fried-candy…no wonder everyone looked like a candidate for Stroke, pasty white thunder thighs with a cigarette in one hand and a deep fried Snickers in the other. I looked positively Vegan next to them. The gig was great , 10,000 people crowded into the stands. And how they roared, they sang every song…
The Alerus center, named after Joshua Alerus, patron saint of the pre-warmed rectal probe. A huge place this, we set up in one small corner and roped the rest off. I met a girl from Myspace and we hung out on the side of the stage watching Firehouse Shake and Tumble Down. A fan in the front row recognized me and came over and the girl next to me saw him and said “Weren’t you my 8th grade school teacher?” –just when you thought you weren’t old…
After the show I went to the bus and watched the Pamela Anderson roast, which consisted mostly of big tit and big dick jokes…mostly. The Firehouse bus was the party bus that night, Darling Inga Binga was the hostess with the Mostest and it bounced up and down from the James Brown beat. Alex Grossi from QR bent over and Inga stuck a twizzler down his ass crack. It’s bad when a twizzler goes in red and comes back out pitch black, Alex should see a physician. Then they got some lucky girl to eat the licorice and such was my boredom that night that I have only this to report. Day off in Minn. — I think I’ll go to the Mall of the Americas and fill up on deep fried Twix and Twizzlers and then fall into a dreamless sleep. Later.