8.2.2017 (first posted this week 2001)
When Page and Plant left the restaurant I was sure they would be playing
the TNSC secret show the following night in San Francisco. They were
the ones doing the convincing; Robert owed me a big favor. A few years
back – while I was still living in Chicago – I bumped into him at the
Addison L station. He was rummaging through his pockets and looking
thoroughly disgusted. It was hard to miss him, what at over six-five …
and that hair! Well he was patting down his pockets and spitting out
some great English swear words (I’m a sucker for English slang -- ask
anyone). As he was standing right next to the turnstile I knew
immediately that he couldn’t find his token. “Hey Robert,” I said, “you
lose your token?” He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “Oh, hey Josh.
Yeh. I can’t find the foking thing anywhere. I had a whole bleeding army
of them earlier.” I had just bought a new roll, so I peeled off two and
handed him one. “Oh no, mate, I’ll just call me driver,” he said. “Oh
jeebus, Robert. It’s the least I can do, what with Custard Pie and
Ramble On.” “Thanks, mate. I won’t forget this.” We shook hands. “My
pleasure, Robert Plant . This gets you back for When the Levee Breaks.”
“Okey, then,” he chuckled.
So when he called me last Wednesday and
said he was sending a car over I didn’t think that the car would be
taking me to the airport! I had a few pops at the Admiral’s Club then
jetted to JFK. He met me at the gate the next morning. “Sorry about the
red-eye, old man.” Nothing to it, I told him. “Look, I brought you here
to talk about making good on that favour I owe you. A friend of mine has
agreed to help.” “You just said ‘favor’ with a ‘U’ in it, didn’t you,” I
kidded. “You’re a bloody comedian, you are. Come on.” We drove into
Manhattan and wheeled up to a curb in front of a familiar-looking deli. I
asked him: “Doesn’t Marty Scorsese get Reubens here?” “In twenty-five
seconds you’re going to know why he does,” He said. He was right.
As
if cued by me finishing my pickle, Robert says, “Ah. Here’s my friend.”
Jimmy Page hisownself walks in. “Hi Jimmy,” I said. “Hello Josh, it’s
been a while,” he said, referring to the time I bailed him out of a
tragic lost bus pass on Sunset in LA. “God, what was that? ’89?” I said.
We laughed.
I said, “So what’s up?” Robert said, “That nice turn you
did for me deserves a little payback. I’m chatting with Jimmy last week
and your name comes up and he says he owes you a favour – excuse me – a
“favor” too. He then cooks up an idea to play a show for you there in
San Francisco, as we’re going into studio to record there next week. I
thought it was a smashing idea so we brought you here to chat about it.
What do you think?” I thought it was swell. “What do you need me to do,
fellas? I’m in. I know a mess of lovely people that would get a kick out
of you guys playing a show.” “That’s great. Really. That’s wonderful,”
Jimmy says. “I’ve been trying to think of something for years. You can
help us set it up, though.” “Oh, of course! What do you need?” I said.
“Just find a small venue that has a P.A. We’ll do the rest.” “I’m on
it,” I said. “Give me a call tomorrow.” “Cheers,” they said, and left.
Only
a few calls from the seatback phone on the way back to ‘Frisco locked
in the stage at Make Out Room. The bartender there is a doll and she
agreed right away. I didn’t say it was going to be two rock Gods playing
live, but the promise of a great act was all she needed. “The
Mothertruckers stank the place up last night,” she said, “the place
needs some good juju.” I then phoned Robert with the good news and hung
up and began trying to get a little shut-eye, getting comfy with a
half-moon-shaped neck-pillow thing. Just as I was nodding off, a flight
attendant touched my shoulder and said there was a call coming in for me
and asked me to pick up the seatback phone. It was my best friend Phil!
Here’s what he said:
“Yeah, I've got a venue announcement for you:
Thursday, 5:38pm Pad 39A Kennedy Space Center. I know it's short notice,
but take off Thursday and Friday. We'll watch Discovery launch, throw
down a few at the beach, light some fireworks, and watch some baseball
with your Dad over the weekend. I’ll plan your itinerary.”
This being
a once-in-a-lifetime chance, I said: “I’ll be ready to leave tonight.
Let me know the airline and flight number.” He said, “Roger. I’ll call
you back.” He talks funny like that.
When I called Robert back to
tell him I got a better offer, Jimmy answered his phone. I told him what
was up. “Oh wow, mate, that’s fantastic. I don’t blame you. Get down
there and see it. I’ll tell Robert. He’ll understand too. We’ll ring you
some other time. Cheers!” he said and hung up.
So there you have it. I almost got you lovely list members a secret show last week. I guess we’ll have to wail till next time.
For now:
Lucky 13 (before it disappears)
News:
Lessee … Gary is new to the list. I’m
probably forgetting someone … Oh yeh! Freshy and Bobo provide new
addresses. Great!
The venues for the next two Thursdays (8.4 and 8.5)
will be the same venues that were featured 8.4 and 8.5 Y2K. See the
archive for specifics. Reason being: Excellent things happened at those
places.
Last
Week’s Contest Results: Well it wasn't quite last week but the winner
of the last contest was Mary Haring. She correctly found the reference:
"Zingaro" is the Italian word for deadbeat. Yey Mary. She will enjoy a
prize.
TONIGHT'S DRAMATIC REENACTMENT: Last weeks secret show! Cake plays Cake. Whoever went plays the audience.
TONIGHT'S SINGLED-OUT LIST MEMBER: Amy Shuba. It takes me singling her out these days to get her to meetings.
PORN TITLE OF THE WEEK: Beaver & Buttcheeks
Do you like booze? I know I do. Lucky 13 has booze. C'mon out. Bring your friends. I know I will. See you there! bye-ee!
