"I Am Losing My Mind Here"
The video for Alabama's "I'm In A Hurry" was shot way out in the eastern plains of New Mexico; somewhere between Albuquerque, Santa Fe and Amarillo, Texas, and the company I worked for was hired to set up the lighting grid. It was set in a flat, wind-blown grassland known as the Llano, a place where outlaws used to hide in the previous century and where peanuts and pinto beans are grown today. It was a funny and easy gig to do; the video director wanted to have a big stage set up in the middle of nowhere and have a big concert for no-one, videotaping the sound and lighting stage from helicopters while Alabama played. It was nice to have a day to set a stage up and run some simple lighting, and get paid for it too.
The set up went really smoothly, the stage came together and the lighting grid went up without any problems. There were only white lights, so I didn't have to prep anything or get any gels in, just make sure all the lights worked. There was a 400-amp generator chugging away to the side and that was enough for the whole lighting grid, although when I ran up all the lights at once the generator would emit a deep groan, lean to one side and spew out thick black smoke. It was fun to do. I'd turn the lights off and it'd purr like a regular generator, then run them all up and hear the gnnnnrrrrr of the generator and watch a plume of ink smoke belch from the exhaust. It sounded like a tractor driving through mud. My boss Jack was with me and we had a few laughs. Then came the general manager for the videoshoot, Peter, someone who we met a few hours before daybreak when we were still setting up the stage.
"What the hell are you guys doing?" He asked hurriedly.
"Oh, just screwing around. You need something?" Jack replied.
"I just need you to stop fucking around, and get to work, okay?" He snapped at us, turned around and waked away.
He'd been running around all morning long. He was one of those busy-looking Los Angeles types with a black turtleneck and his hair in a ponytail, one of the young ones I sometimes saw trying to impress older ones of his type, all of them coming from the same hollywood yuppie ilk. He had a cellular phone, pager, flashlight, walkie-talkie, and car keys all jingling from his belt, and whenever he walked he had to skip to the side so that the materials wouldn't slow him down. Earlier that morning (we started setup at 4 a.m.) he was cool and comfortable--New Mexico is quite chilly at night, even in summer, but after daybreak when the wind subsides it can get hot, dusty, and dry. Later that morning, after the tempurature rose from just above freezing to around 75°, he started perspiring. It was a little at first, just on the brow, but I could tell that the black turtleneck wasn't a good idea, especially in the unrelenting desert sun. And, to add to his misery, he had no hat either. Throughout the morning he was running from one part of the shoot to the other. This scene expanded over a few acres with catering trucks, video trailers, port-a-potties, and all kinds of tour busses and pickup trucks. Everyone was in a great mood and everything was on-time, folks were laid back and friendly. Except for Peter, who was barking into his cell phone or yammering into a walkie-talkie, his voice becoming increasingly hoarse and his clothes soaked from sweat. Most people would just give him a sideways glance and raise their eyebrows, and then quietly move away.
By 9 a.m. the stage was up and the lighting grid was focused (lights pointed in all the right directions). We cleaned up our cables by 10 a.m., and put all the gear under the stage for the shoot, since helicopters would be flying overhead videotaping at 2 p.m.. By 11 a.m. we were bored and screwing around with the generator watching it pitch to the left and spew black smoke, which gave us no end of amusement. I was during this that Peter came to us and told us to stop screwing around. Since we didn't have much work to do, we milled around the set for a while. We had 3 hours to kill.
I saw Alabama's guitar techs sitting on the back of a pickup truck and went over to talk to them about the gorgeous DanElectro guitars they had lined up, they had about 10 of them... some vintage and some new. We talked about guitars and amps for a while, and some of the guys from Alabama hung out too, they were all really nice. Peter came up again, this time he was sweating a bit more.
"The lighting grid. It's ready?"
"Yes, it's ready to go." I replied in a friendly tone, trying to make him a bit calmer.
"Has it got enough gas... for the day. Has it got enough fuel." He asked quickly in monotone, looking at his cell phone and punching a few numbers on the pad.
"Oh sure, it'll last till tomorrow I think, as long as we don't run it full-steam from now till then" I replied.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" he barked at me. I'm not sure if he heard what I said.
One of the guitar techs peeked from around a guitar and helped me out. "He means that it's FINE, just relax man!" The other guys laughed. Peter's face started getting even redder.
"I just don't like people fucking around when there's an important video and lots of money being spent." Peter said to the guitar tech, then turned and walked off toward the stage.
"Who peed in his latté?" one guy said, and we all laughed. Peter glanced back and kept walking. The guitar tech leaned over to me and said in a Southern drawl "That fella's been gettin' worse all day. He's liable to blow a gasket any moment now, I recon." I noticed that the temperature was near 80° and that there was no wind.
The shoot went along nicely, with close-ups on the band being shot here and there, the catering truck was well-furnished and all of it was very organized, very unlike most of the gigs I had been doing up till that point. At various times during the day I'd glance and see Peter darting around the set, running sideways and barking into his walkie-talkie or cell phone. Jack said "I think Peter might be a candidate for sunburn..." I saw Peter jogging to the camera truck at one point, the veins on his forehead were casting shadows on his red face.
About 1:45 p.m., about 15 minutes before the helicopters were set to arrive, our generator was off. Just off...silent, no motor. It was a rented generator, a good solid 400 amp one as well. I didn't know how generators worked, so I radioed for Jack to come take a look at it... he was off talking to someone near the catering truck somewhere. I had a sneaking suspicion that someone had turned it off, perhaps one of Jack's famous pranks. Peter was really sweating now, big rivers of sweat rolling down his nose and across his red cheeks. His hair and shirt were wet too.
"What the fuck is the problem with this fucking thing. What is the problem. What else could go WRONG. What the FUCK could go WRONG now." he repeated himself over and over in a crazy upset monotone and paced around in the dust. I tried to reassure Peter that it'd been turned off to save gas or something, but he didn't listen to me. Jack showed up a minute later and flicked a switch on the side and the generator roared to a start. Jack said "Voila. Good as new" and winked at me. Peter wasn't amused. He whipped around and grabbed his walkie-talkie, squeezing it hard as he could, as perhaps to get more volume out of it, and shrieked "I AM LOSING MY MIND HERE! CAN ANYONE SEE THAT I'M LOSING MY MIND HERE?!" The veins in his forhead looked as if they were going to burst out of his beet-red face. His shirt, hair, and pants were soaked with sweat. He was panting. A few moments passed and we stared into Peter's mad blue eyes which darted all around. Jack, in a calm tone, said "Do you need some sunscreen?" and handed a bottle of coppertone to him. Peter emitted a crazy wheeze that sounded like a "no" and walked away.
We were under the stage as the helicopters flew overhead. The lights were at full-power and the generator roared smoothly. I watched from beneath the cracks in the stage as they flew past-- over and over--and watched Alabama lip-synch to a loudspeaker of that song "I'm In A Hurry" (They must have played it 100 times that day). At about 4 p.m. we were done with the helicopters and additional shooting would take place out on the plains (individual band members being taped).
From what one of the camera people said, all the shooting went really well and was on-schedule. Jack and I had a great time watching how the camera people set up tracks for the cameras and roll the equipment around. Everyone was really nice and we had the whole day to just kick back and enjoy the shoot. I'd see Peter from time to time, he'd be increasingly redder from the sun, and by sunset his voice was all but gone. At one point during dinner break (around 6 p.m.) I heard him scream into his cell phone "I am losing my mind here!" in a thin, angry squeak that sounded painful to listen to.
The shoot ended, we shook hands with the band and crew and they left us to tear down the lights and our stage. We had a crew of about 15 stagehands so it went down quickly and we had the whole thing packed in our semi tractor-trailer by 10 p.m. It was one of the easiest gigs I ever had to light. After the truck had been loaded and the doors closed, Peter came over to us and shook our hands.
"You guys were great, thanks for all your help" he said in a squeaky, quietly strained voice "yep, it all went well, don't you think?" Jack and I looked at each other with puzzled looks. It was dark and cold out, a blanket of stars above. The semi was chugging on idle and we were ready to leave, but curiously Peter seemed to want to chat. In the light of the headlights I could see Peter's face blistered from the day of sun. His voice sounded like it was being squeezed through a straw. "You guys did a fantastic job today, it went great." he squeeked. "Whoo. I'm bushed. Yeah, really well... really... tired. Guess I'm going to sleep well tonight... heh." He shook his head and looked down, and took a drink off a bottle of water. He sounded exhausted. Jack asked him if he needed a ride into town, he declined and nodded to his BMW across a field. "Oh well, you guys have a good one, okay? Thanks.. thanks again." He shook our hands and walked to his car. We climbed into the truck and Jack said "I think our friend Peter lost his mind here."
The set up went really smoothly, the stage came together and the lighting grid went up without any problems. There were only white lights, so I didn't have to prep anything or get any gels in, just make sure all the lights worked. There was a 400-amp generator chugging away to the side and that was enough for the whole lighting grid, although when I ran up all the lights at once the generator would emit a deep groan, lean to one side and spew out thick black smoke. It was fun to do. I'd turn the lights off and it'd purr like a regular generator, then run them all up and hear the gnnnnrrrrr of the generator and watch a plume of ink smoke belch from the exhaust. It sounded like a tractor driving through mud. My boss Jack was with me and we had a few laughs. Then came the general manager for the videoshoot, Peter, someone who we met a few hours before daybreak when we were still setting up the stage.
"What the hell are you guys doing?" He asked hurriedly.
"Oh, just screwing around. You need something?" Jack replied.
"I just need you to stop fucking around, and get to work, okay?" He snapped at us, turned around and waked away.
He'd been running around all morning long. He was one of those busy-looking Los Angeles types with a black turtleneck and his hair in a ponytail, one of the young ones I sometimes saw trying to impress older ones of his type, all of them coming from the same hollywood yuppie ilk. He had a cellular phone, pager, flashlight, walkie-talkie, and car keys all jingling from his belt, and whenever he walked he had to skip to the side so that the materials wouldn't slow him down. Earlier that morning (we started setup at 4 a.m.) he was cool and comfortable--New Mexico is quite chilly at night, even in summer, but after daybreak when the wind subsides it can get hot, dusty, and dry. Later that morning, after the tempurature rose from just above freezing to around 75°, he started perspiring. It was a little at first, just on the brow, but I could tell that the black turtleneck wasn't a good idea, especially in the unrelenting desert sun. And, to add to his misery, he had no hat either. Throughout the morning he was running from one part of the shoot to the other. This scene expanded over a few acres with catering trucks, video trailers, port-a-potties, and all kinds of tour busses and pickup trucks. Everyone was in a great mood and everything was on-time, folks were laid back and friendly. Except for Peter, who was barking into his cell phone or yammering into a walkie-talkie, his voice becoming increasingly hoarse and his clothes soaked from sweat. Most people would just give him a sideways glance and raise their eyebrows, and then quietly move away.
By 9 a.m. the stage was up and the lighting grid was focused (lights pointed in all the right directions). We cleaned up our cables by 10 a.m., and put all the gear under the stage for the shoot, since helicopters would be flying overhead videotaping at 2 p.m.. By 11 a.m. we were bored and screwing around with the generator watching it pitch to the left and spew black smoke, which gave us no end of amusement. I was during this that Peter came to us and told us to stop screwing around. Since we didn't have much work to do, we milled around the set for a while. We had 3 hours to kill.
I saw Alabama's guitar techs sitting on the back of a pickup truck and went over to talk to them about the gorgeous DanElectro guitars they had lined up, they had about 10 of them... some vintage and some new. We talked about guitars and amps for a while, and some of the guys from Alabama hung out too, they were all really nice. Peter came up again, this time he was sweating a bit more.
"The lighting grid. It's ready?"
"Yes, it's ready to go." I replied in a friendly tone, trying to make him a bit calmer.
"Has it got enough gas... for the day. Has it got enough fuel." He asked quickly in monotone, looking at his cell phone and punching a few numbers on the pad.
"Oh sure, it'll last till tomorrow I think, as long as we don't run it full-steam from now till then" I replied.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" he barked at me. I'm not sure if he heard what I said.
One of the guitar techs peeked from around a guitar and helped me out. "He means that it's FINE, just relax man!" The other guys laughed. Peter's face started getting even redder.
"I just don't like people fucking around when there's an important video and lots of money being spent." Peter said to the guitar tech, then turned and walked off toward the stage.
"Who peed in his latté?" one guy said, and we all laughed. Peter glanced back and kept walking. The guitar tech leaned over to me and said in a Southern drawl "That fella's been gettin' worse all day. He's liable to blow a gasket any moment now, I recon." I noticed that the temperature was near 80° and that there was no wind.
The shoot went along nicely, with close-ups on the band being shot here and there, the catering truck was well-furnished and all of it was very organized, very unlike most of the gigs I had been doing up till that point. At various times during the day I'd glance and see Peter darting around the set, running sideways and barking into his walkie-talkie or cell phone. Jack said "I think Peter might be a candidate for sunburn..." I saw Peter jogging to the camera truck at one point, the veins on his forehead were casting shadows on his red face.
About 1:45 p.m., about 15 minutes before the helicopters were set to arrive, our generator was off. Just off...silent, no motor. It was a rented generator, a good solid 400 amp one as well. I didn't know how generators worked, so I radioed for Jack to come take a look at it... he was off talking to someone near the catering truck somewhere. I had a sneaking suspicion that someone had turned it off, perhaps one of Jack's famous pranks. Peter was really sweating now, big rivers of sweat rolling down his nose and across his red cheeks. His hair and shirt were wet too.
"What the fuck is the problem with this fucking thing. What is the problem. What else could go WRONG. What the FUCK could go WRONG now." he repeated himself over and over in a crazy upset monotone and paced around in the dust. I tried to reassure Peter that it'd been turned off to save gas or something, but he didn't listen to me. Jack showed up a minute later and flicked a switch on the side and the generator roared to a start. Jack said "Voila. Good as new" and winked at me. Peter wasn't amused. He whipped around and grabbed his walkie-talkie, squeezing it hard as he could, as perhaps to get more volume out of it, and shrieked "I AM LOSING MY MIND HERE! CAN ANYONE SEE THAT I'M LOSING MY MIND HERE?!" The veins in his forhead looked as if they were going to burst out of his beet-red face. His shirt, hair, and pants were soaked with sweat. He was panting. A few moments passed and we stared into Peter's mad blue eyes which darted all around. Jack, in a calm tone, said "Do you need some sunscreen?" and handed a bottle of coppertone to him. Peter emitted a crazy wheeze that sounded like a "no" and walked away.
We were under the stage as the helicopters flew overhead. The lights were at full-power and the generator roared smoothly. I watched from beneath the cracks in the stage as they flew past-- over and over--and watched Alabama lip-synch to a loudspeaker of that song "I'm In A Hurry" (They must have played it 100 times that day). At about 4 p.m. we were done with the helicopters and additional shooting would take place out on the plains (individual band members being taped).
From what one of the camera people said, all the shooting went really well and was on-schedule. Jack and I had a great time watching how the camera people set up tracks for the cameras and roll the equipment around. Everyone was really nice and we had the whole day to just kick back and enjoy the shoot. I'd see Peter from time to time, he'd be increasingly redder from the sun, and by sunset his voice was all but gone. At one point during dinner break (around 6 p.m.) I heard him scream into his cell phone "I am losing my mind here!" in a thin, angry squeak that sounded painful to listen to.
The shoot ended, we shook hands with the band and crew and they left us to tear down the lights and our stage. We had a crew of about 15 stagehands so it went down quickly and we had the whole thing packed in our semi tractor-trailer by 10 p.m. It was one of the easiest gigs I ever had to light. After the truck had been loaded and the doors closed, Peter came over to us and shook our hands.
"You guys were great, thanks for all your help" he said in a squeaky, quietly strained voice "yep, it all went well, don't you think?" Jack and I looked at each other with puzzled looks. It was dark and cold out, a blanket of stars above. The semi was chugging on idle and we were ready to leave, but curiously Peter seemed to want to chat. In the light of the headlights I could see Peter's face blistered from the day of sun. His voice sounded like it was being squeezed through a straw. "You guys did a fantastic job today, it went great." he squeeked. "Whoo. I'm bushed. Yeah, really well... really... tired. Guess I'm going to sleep well tonight... heh." He shook his head and looked down, and took a drink off a bottle of water. He sounded exhausted. Jack asked him if he needed a ride into town, he declined and nodded to his BMW across a field. "Oh well, you guys have a good one, okay? Thanks.. thanks again." He shook our hands and walked to his car. We climbed into the truck and Jack said "I think our friend Peter lost his mind here."
2 Comments:
I wonder if poor, pasty Peter has had a heart attack yet. Maybe he thrives on self-created stress. Fascinating.
The perspective from Robby is so drasticly different from Peter's experience. I wonder what his blog of the story would look like...
=Mitch
The desert is a jealous lover. Her pleasures are bountiful and she drives men mad. She whispers "hruvvvvvvvvvvvvv" and blinks her sleepy eye.
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