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ON THE FRONT LINES with Freak |
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ON THE ROAD WITH... FREAK HARD ROCK VAULT OPENING BASH Orlando, Florida ~ 1/17/03
Turd
from the “Mancow Morning Madhouse” team and I stumbled out of
Diamonds sometime after midnight and headed back downtown to start another
day. We made a pit stop on
Taylor Street for some heartburn on a bun before grabbing another 12-pack
at White Hen and going to Q-101.
Cow and the rest of the crew were already down in Orlando for the
festivities but we had to hang back for a promotion. We continued drinking during the show, on
the way to Midway, in the airport, on the plane, and on the way to our
hotel. Beer, Jaeger, and
Vodka surged through our veins as we checked in with a nervous desk clerk
named Martha. Arriving on the seventh floor, Turd opted to
grab a nap but my belly fullof Red Bull and Jaeger would hear nothing of
it. I unloaded my bags in 712
and proceeded immediately to the hotel bar where I sat my ass down and
continued to ingest a steady diet of beer along with some CNN. Lobby call was at 7:15 and as the others
began to materialize, I was still anchored to the bar but was now being
interviewed by a Canadian news team that thought I was Zakk
Wylde. Stashing a beer in
my pocket, I left the embarrassed Canucks at the bar and headed over to
The Vault. I’ve never been to a full-blown Hollywood
type extravaganza so I was actually kind of giddy when we finally arrived.
Bright lights, a wall of media geeks, and the infamous red carpet
all combined to make it a king-hell of an event.
I snuck around a power trailer, ducked between some velvet ropes,
and grabbed a seat on the curb after snagging a six-pack of Killian’s
and some finger sandwiches from the catering tent. It turned out to be the perfect spot since the red carpet began some twenty feet to my left and the line of limos ran some thirty feet to my right forcing all of the stars to pass directly in front of my position. Almost immediately, a drunken individual
staggered up and plopped down beside me.
He was sipping from a tall glass of white wine and was cranked out
of his mind. “Should
be a good show, eh?,” he spouted in a rough English accent.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the
world.” He continued as
I offered him a sandwich hoping it would shut him up.
“Well, I guess that’s it then,” the drunk quipped as the
last car dropped off O-Town and
pulled away. “Time to go have a
look inside, eh?” I
turned to answer him but as I began to speak I went dizzy.
I’m not sure if it was the forty-one hours without sleep or the
heavy drinking but I went light-headed as I realized that my new friend
was Brian Johnson from AC/DC.
“What the hell are you
doing here?” I asked trying to remain calm. “You
should be over there with those guys, and… jeez, you’re actually the
most qualified son of a bitch to be standing here!”
His bellowing laughter filled the air.
“Bullocks, I’m to old for
this carnival crap. I live a
mile from here and just stopped off to see what’s going on.
Can you get me in?” Christ,
I thought, the singer for AC/DC wants me to get him into this thing.
“Follow me,” I said as we headed for the media entrance, “this
shouldn’t be a problem”.
We walked in and flagged down the dork running the operation.
“I need a pass for my
friend here,” I whispered. As he turned to say, “No,”
it became his turn to go dizzy. “Is that Angus Young?” he stammered. More laughter erupted from the drunken singer.
“Close jackass,” I
snapped, “it’s Brian Johnson.” “Of
course Mr. Johnson,” he gushed,
“we’re honored to have you sir, right this way sir.” He repeated as he led us away.
From that point on I
got the full-on rock-startreatment with free beer, free food, and a
private tour of The Vault. Later, I was sitting in the VIP lounge with no less than four future rock ‘n’ roll hall of famers within sight thinking, “how did I manage this one?” “Screw it” I figured, and cracked open another beer and enjoyed the ride.
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