Today is the Monsters Of Rock show in Calgary, Alberta. The first band starts at noon and we’re on around 2pm. We cannot take showers because, this being a sports stadium, the two giant locker rooms have been converted into dressing rooms for the headliners, Ozzy Osbourne And Judas Priest. After walking past Ozzy and Priest’s rooms (they don’t go on till much, much later), we go up some stairs, through a bathroom, down several hallways, past the catering area, then more hallways to a series of makeshift ‘rooms’ which are really tiny areas separated by strategically placed curtains, each with a sign for its designated band and containing a case of water, a case of beer and some towels. We are all on the food chain at this festival, but us opening bands are doing great just to be invited to this show, and I’m glad we’re here.
My friends in Shadows Fall and Cavalera Conspiracy are here. I’m also looking forward to bumping into Zakk Wylde, he’s always great to hang with. These and other routine thoughts and observations are going through my head, leaving me totally unprepared for the moment that is about to happen.
I walk into the small shared bathroom and see Satan himself. He is covered in red body paint, wearing nothing but a red thong which crawls right up his red butt. He is looking in the mirror applying eyeliner. He sees me through the mirror. ‘What’s up dude.’he says nonchalantly. I nod hello and begin washing my face in the sink next to his. He continues to apply eye make up. It’s like the strangest apparition and I’m sure I must be imagining it. Finally I can hold back no more.
“Are you who I think you are?”, I ask in all seriousness. I didn’t actually ask that. What I did say was, ‘Uh, are you like a mascot or something?’
He turns around, and tells me he’s the singer for the opening band, called Zimmer’s Hole. I introduce myself. Turns out I know their drummer, Gene, who played in my band at one point. The conversation is so friendly, I almost don’t notice the horns, loin cloth and red skin. After a few more pleasantries, I bid Satan farewell, and go back to our backstage area thinking the following: if I needed any more proof that my life is anything but normal, this was it. Unless any of you readers have woken up, gone into a bathroom and been greeted by Satan in a thong.