Please note: this rant originally written 9/3/06 in Microsoft Word. Why? Because I refuse to sign up for a yearly contract just to use the WiFi at the Denver Airport. But that's another rant entirely.

Now, on to the rant du jour: poseurs. You know who I mean. That jerk that insists on standing on your feeder through the whole show. The skank ho that stands in front of the monitor desk so she can see the lead singer. The 500 or so people who cram into the 30 sq ft of FOH so they can “get the real feel of the show.” You’ve seen them. You hate them. But you have to deal with them. They’re FOB (friend of the band) or related to the record company or the local rock DJ’s second cousin’s neighbors ex-girlfriend. They’re not trying to make our life harder, yet they can’t help it: it’s their destiny. But I’m not talking about them.

No, this is about the 1% of those poseurs who think they’re “special.” They don’t understand that this is our job. It’s what we do. Every day. All year. For some reason, these people think that because a band is famous; because they are public figures, it’s ok to take a “souvenir”, a little something to remember the show. Because the laminate or sticky that the tour manager gave them isn’t enough. They need to have a pick, or set list, or a drum stick, or head, or snare drum, or maybe even a guitar. Whatever they can fit under their jacket and sneak past security. These are the kind of poseurs I’m talking about today.

What precipitated this rant, you might ask? Well, I’ll tell you.

Last night, I was at Red Rocks in Colorado. As the show was winding down, I noticed a random poseur walking through my dimmer pit toward the guitar tech’s workbox. I witnessed him reach into the guitar case, and pull out a rubber chicken, which usually lives on the side fill, but had just been struck by the guitar tech. I watched this poseur as he looked around and took off his bookbag. It was about this time he noticed me watching him. So he placed his bag and the chicken on the case behind him and turned to watch the show. After I snuck over and secured the chicken, I turned to the production assistant and said “Go get the security guard. We need to search this dude’s bag.” Shortly thereafter, the poseur turned around. Surprised that the chicken was gone, he began looking all over for it, until the PA returned with a security guard. “We need to look in your bag” he said. The poseur just gave him a blank look, and the guitar tech returned at about that moment, yelling “Where’s my rubber chicken?” I think the poseur must have peed himself, because he started to stammer something about just wanting to play with the chicken. At this point, I held up the chicken, and the guard escorted the poseur out.

The chicken in question.

Now, why this particular jerk thought he could walk up to the guitar box and take something out without anyone noticing, I’m not sure. Whether or not he was going to steal the chicken, I don’t know. Should I have let him put the chicken in his bag and then snagged him? Maybe. But why let it go that far? He was someplace he didn’t belong, doing something he shouldn’t, and that’s good enough for me.

I would just like to know what he thought he was doing. He was a guest, of either the band or the producer, I don’t know (probably the producer, because the production assistant didn’t know who he was). I’ll repeat that, just in case it didn’t sink in: he was a GUEST. Whomever gave him a pass was responsible for him and his actions. If you can’t keep an eye on your guests backstage, don’t invite them. Don’t get them backstage passes. Period. Why? Because this is my place of business. This is where I work. I have expensive gear, and I have plenty of things to do during the show; babysitting your girlfriend’s sister’s cousin’s former roommate and her boyfriend are not one of them. If you can’t be responsible for them, don’t invite them. And if you can’t at least take 30 seconds and tell them to stay out of the f’n way and don’t touch anything; then get them a nice pair of lawn seats. They can’t f anything up from out there.

Sometimes, I really want to just walk into an office building and go around, sitting on people’s desks and walking in to the middle of their meetings and leaving half drunken cups of beer on their filing cabinet; taking their mouse or the picture of their wife and kids off their desk. Maybe then they’ll understand.

Anywho, that’s about all I got on that one. I’m sure there’s a hundred thousand stories just like this one, and most a lot worse, but this ones’ my most recent, and I know it won’t be the last. Until they let us start shooting poseurs on sight (write to your Senator and Congressman today!) we’ll just have to keep putting up with it. Take a deep breath, let it out slow, and stay vigilant.

“Man is the only animal that laughs and weeps, for he is the only animal that is struck with the difference between what things are and what they ought to be.”

William Hazlitt (1778 - 1830)

"He's the kind of a guy who lights up a room just by flicking a switch."

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