Carnivals of Madness--Alter Bridge in WI and IA -- Part V

Myles and Selena Kennedy somewhere more formal than a rock concert...

[The rest of the story is mostly conversation... Picture us all in a dusty parking lot in front of the buses, behind a stage where Theory of a Deadman was wrapping up.]

I remember all of us starting the conversation off by telling him how much we enjoyed their set. I told him it really stood out, and I meant it. He interrupted me, “No, no,” he said, slapping his hands together in frustration like Rumpelstiltskin, “I’m a perfectionist. And it. Wasn’t. Perfect.”

Made us all wonder what he’d actually sound like “perfect.” I’m not sure we could handle it!

I told him: “Hey, I thought Come To Life was flawless!”

Sarah hit me. It didn’t click with Myles at first… At their show in Boston in May, Myles started singing the wrong song when Come To Life started, and could not figure out which one he was supposed to be singing. (He was beginning to remember the story now.) Mark and Brian just grinned at him and kept playing until he came in on the second chorus. “And that one was taped!” I added, prompting Sarah to thank me for pointing out to Myles one of his most embarrassing moments.

“I’m sorry, Myles, but you handled it with such humor, it ended up being my favorite part of the night.” At the end of the song he told the audience he had never in his career started singing the wrong song. Forget lyrics? Yes. But not forget a whole song. “Daddy needs a vacation,” he told us, to rousing applause. I was just trying to say, it could have been worse, but as usual, didn’t quite handle it with the best tact… He was nonplussed, especially since he’d forgotten it (until I reminded him.)

Selena Kennedy, standing off to our right, had not stopped smiling since she accompanied Myles out to talk to us. At this point we introduced ourselves to her. She was wearing a fitted black t-shirt with a nice silver necklace, rolled up jeans, sandals, and an adorable straw fedora with a black band. I told her so, embarrassed by my water-warped Aussie fedora. She argued right away that if you had to stand outside all day, you needed a good hat like mine—and that she liked it.

Holy shit, someone nicer than Myles?? Then she realized we HAD been outside all day. “How long have you been here today?” she asked us. Since 9 a.m.—14 hours, we told her.

“Oh no, you must be dying of thirst! Do you want some water? I have to get you some water!” and despite our protests she ran off to get water for all of us. I turned to Myles and told her she was amazing; beautiful. He didn’t even hesitate:



“As beautiful as she appears on the outside, she’s a thousand times more beautiful on the inside. She’s… she’s like an angel that was dropped down to earth just for me. I have no idea where I’d be right now if she hadn’t found me. Ten years I have known her and I am still madly in love with her.”

I wish I had a picture of his face as he said this. I’ve never seen him more sincere. Then he added, in a whisper, “And she has no idea she's that beautiful!” He looked like he was keeping the biggest secret ever. He briefly told us about their first date (they were set up by friends) to prove his point. I don’t think it qualifies as public knowledge, so I won’t share that for their sakes.

As she came back with the water, we all looked at her with new eyes. Sarah and I still have the bottles she gave us—yes, we’re geeks. We thanked her effusively, still humbled by the fact that Myles’ wife ran to get water for us. We tried to regain our composure…

Suddenly I remembered how I had wanted a picture shaking hands with Myles so that both our Red Monkey watches were in the shot, so I could send it to their designer, Torry Pendergrass. I’d promised him one months ago.

“Are you wearing your Red Monkey?” I asked Myles, since his Hellfest jacket sleeves covered his wrists. His face fell. “No, I took it off.” Then his face lit back up and he pulled back his sleeve. “I’m wearing a new one.”

Selena smiled and stepped closer. He was clearly excited about this new toy. I asked him what kind it was. He explained it was a “real” diver’s watch, one you could take deep underwater. “I love that,” he grinned. “I always wanted to be a marine biologist. Instead, I ended up doing this.” And he swept his arm around to indicate the musicians, fans and innumerable buses. He made it sound like he ended up as a clerk at a gas station. We had to laugh.

I told him I had promised Torry a picture with our Red Monkeys so we’d have to try again. I had lifted my wrist a little as I said it, and they all gathered in—can I write that again?—they all gathered in; Myles, Selena, and Brian, who had joined us—to examine my watch. I could care less if they were humoring me—I was in heaven. Brian especially seemed interested in it, asking which one it was, and both Myles and Selena liked it. Selena wanted to see the front and back, and I was embarrassed again for having such clunky hardware around such a feminine figure.

Around this time, Nate, whom I’d completely forgotten in my selfish haze about 20 minutes before, posed a question to Myles. “So you must be LOVIN’ shark week!” Myles lit up—that was a yes. SO that explains the octopus tattoo then, I added. Priceless reaction.

He rolled his eyes and said something like, THAT was not thoroughly thought out, as he mimed drinking out of a glass. “I had befriended a tattoo artist and that’s what I got.”

“Actually,” he leaned in to tell us, “He wanted to do an octopus with a naked woman riding it.” We roared. “Thank God you were just sober enough to draw that line!” I told him. No shit, he said.

So here’s this tattoo we all SO identify him with, and he brushes it off as having had too much to drink. “But this other one I like…” and he started to pull his left sleeve up just as we were interrupted. Throughout the evening we were naturally interrupted by fans and musicians stopping to greet him, hug him, shake his hand, and maybe grab a signature. I seemed to be the only one with a Sharpie, which I found odd, so he used it to sign a myriad of items, including a bar stool.

Anyway, we didn’t hear the end of that story… of the tattoo he liked, which is too bad, because I don’t know anything about that one.

Whenever the person who popped in, popped back out: one was Emphatic’s temporary lead singer, whom Sarah was smart and quick enough to grab a hug from as he left; while I think another was BSC’s lead singer, as well as TOAD’s singer (post-concert etiquette, apparently). We soon resumed talking about tattoos, but from another angle.

Awkwardly, I told him that after 45 years of no tattoos, I was actually thinking of breaking down, because of him. He actually looked somewhat alarmed at that remark. I explained that I had considered getting a tattoo of his signature, smallish, on my right inside forearm—until my young friend Stacey in Indiana had a HUGE one done of Myles’ sig just the week before.

“But that’s not artistic enough!” Myles protested. “It will be with you the rest of your life!” Spoken like someone who knows! I told him I had considered that, too… and hesitated just enough for Sarah to ask what I’d been trying to ask. But instead of asking Myles, she turned to Selena and asked her. Took all the awkwardness out of an awkward question.

“Does Myles doodle?” Sarah asked Selena, whose eyebrows raised a bit. “You know, draw things when he’s bored?”

Myles looked at her as if he himself didn’t know the answer. She was thinking, her brow slightly furrowed. He then shook his head and said, “I haven’t really done that since I was a kid…”

“Oh, c’mon.” I said, “Not even pugs? Puppies?”

“Nah,” he shrugged, “Huh-uh.”

“That’s not true,” Selena finally said. “You’re always drawing horses.”

[I’m sorry, but did the evening just get a little more perfect? Why yes, it did!]

“Horses?” said Sarah and I in unison. Sarah continued, “Nancy LOVES horses.” I reminded Myles of Julian, my avatar. He shook his head in a “duh” moment of recognition.

“I just thought I’d ask if there was some signature sketch you always do, and thought maybe I could tattoo that…” Me.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off. “I think I’d have to work on it to make sure it was good enough.” Sarah and I exchanged glances. Then a light bulb flashed over his adorable black fedora. “I should have Slash draw something for you—he’s great at that!”

Sarah and I in unison again, “No!”

“I draw a lot of sharks!” he suddenly remembered. “Big open mouth full of teeth—I LOVED Jaws.”

Sarah said, “You could do that one for me!” And I wasn’t even thinking how perfect it would be for a dental hygienist to have a tattoo of Jaws on her arm.

As he had already done several times, he brought us in for a huddle. His brow wrinkled as he thought something through. “Can I take some time and work on it?” He then looked over at me in all seriousness and asked, “And can it be an Arabian horse?” since he had been reminded I had a Percheron. I threw a glance at Sarah that asked, “Did he just ask me if it would be okay for him to draw me an Arabian horse?” to which she telepathically replied “I’m pretty sure he did.”

“You can draw whichever type of horse you like," I told him. "And I love Arabians, since that’s mostly what I rode when I was living in Cairo.”

“You lived in Cairo?”

Men, never paying attention. So I gave the quick run-down on not getting anywhere with my Zoology degree—“You have a degree in Zoology? Really? What can you do with that?” We were going off track, I told him if you’re really patient you can work at zoos or other cool places, but I was stuck at a boring lab job. So I applied to grad school to learn Arabic just for the opportunity to travel to the Middle East.

“You speak Arabic?” Didn’t look at Sarah but heard her unuttered, “Here we go…”

So in Arabic I said, Yes, I can speak the Arabic language. Didn’t tell him that’s about all I remember. Sarah joked that we had no way of knowing if I was really saying something or just speaking gibberish. Hey, if it’s me, it’s usually gibberish in any language, I thought to myself.

Myles then started talking about how sad it was that different cultures were so soundly stereotyped—here and there—that no one realizes how alike we are. He said that was a real gift of being a musician, seeing in person how music transcended all those boundaries and brought people together. It humbled him. I mentioned the Facebook page by Moroccan AB fans and said they’d LOVE to have him over there. He got a look on his face that seemed to say, If only it were that simple.

“You know, I really want to see the pyramids. I’ve never been to Egypt.”

They are incredible, I told him, but he didn’t want to climb down into one. Why not? He asked. I told him how, if you went into the largest one, Cheops, it was a 45 minute descent, at a 45 degree angle, and the shaft was so small you had to bend over the entire time. I doubled over as an example. I noticed my new Converse were already really dirty. “And then you get to the empty tomb and all you smell is urine.”

I straightened back up, looked at his face, which looked as if I had just popped his new balloon. “Okay, I just killed that whole experience for you, didn’t I? It’s still a blast to ride horses or camels around them…” Nice job, Nancy. Sarah tried to save it.

“When you DO get the chance to go, and you need an interpreter—you know who to call!” Good re-direct, I said with a glance.

Then somehow we got to talking about Twitter. Selena had walked away to find other entertainment. I was probably thanking him for using it to find us. He told us that he’d been cutting back on it lately. I HAD noticed that, as have others, but I didn’t say anything. He was clearly still reading them, because on occasion I’d mention something and he’d say, Oh yeah, I saw that on Twitter. But he’s trying not to get drawn into conversations. We waited for his reason.

“It’s affecting my writing!” he said. Tell me about it, I thought. You have something like 400 tweets in the last year and I just passed 15,000—enough words for about ten novels. To myself, I said this.

“Well, that’s not a problem,” I joked. “I won’t have to tweet as much once you give me your cell number.”

He didn’t even pause, though he looked awkward (my fault), as he said, “I don’t think The Wife would go for that. She lets me Twitter, but not give out my phone number.”

As we were chuckling at his polite excuse, he looked at me and added:
“Especially to beautiful women.”

Did not see that coming, and I almost hit the ground. I was so embarrassed, and actually at a complete loss for words for once, so I literally looked down at the ground and kicked the dirt with my dusty Converse. Sweetest. Man. Ever.

About this time Selena came back to our circle—holding a skimpy pair of black underwear with an AB logo. “Look what I found in the truck!” She exclaimed proudly.

“Do you want me to put them on now?” asked Myles, laughing. Yes, I kept my mouth shut. But for the grace of God… Selena looked at them this way and that and said, “I wonder what else I can find in there.” She walked away again.

We all let that one go. Was cute to see her horsing around. She spent a lot of time standing over by the bus talking with Flip, Mark and a couple people I didn’t know.

“So,” I said to Myles, “about this drawing…” Myles and Sarah looked at me. “I have to ask him this one alone,” I told her, turning her to face the other way. Myles looked confused but followed me over a few steps.

“Do you think you might have a sketch ready by, um, Oslo?”

“Norway?!” His eyes grew huge. “You’re coming to Norway?”

I must say, that was exactly the response I had hoped for. I told him how much I had always wanted to see them perform overseas, because I knew their relationship with Europe was different than the one they had with the US. Yes, it sounded as weird as it looks typed.

I told him about my Twitter friend I'd be going with, Jenny, who is an amazing artist that has done work for Slash Band… namely Todd Kerns. (I actually said “Todddammitkerns,” his twitter name and nickname. I sounded like an idiot.) I told him we had many mutual friends on Twitter and she picked perfect timing when he showed him a marker sketch she did of Myles the day after our show. He was blown away.


Jenny Widding's marker sketch of Myles

“Anyway,” I told him, “my family will probably have me committed for flying to Oslo.” At which point he looked concerned, possibly (who knows) remembering that I HAD been hospitalized for depression two years ago. Quick—lighten it up! I thought.

“Well, not really, but they’re not thrilled with the decision.”

This is where I meant to come out and ask if I traveled all the way to Oslo, could I come backstage? And completely chickened out. Staring into those baby blues, without my back-up that I’d moved away from, I was about to melt into a puddle at his feet. Took a deep breath.

“So, that would be a good time to get your sketch,” I ended lamely. I turned back and shot a look that said FAILED! to Sarah and she moved back in to jump-start the conversation.

While she was talking, I suddenly noticed our surroundings. When we had been led in, there were musicians, technicians and fans buzzing everywhere. Now about the only thing buzzing were moths around the parking lot light. It had almost completely cleared out. TOAD had been off the stage for well over an hour and everything was being packed up.

That’s when I realized how long we had been talking to Myles, and started to feel guilty for monopolizing him. (Better late than never, right?) Selena, Flip and Mark were still waiting patiently over by the bus, chatting. Sarah or Nate was talking to him now so I wandered over to Mark, brandishing Flip's drum stick (which he had signed as soon as we got backstage).

“So did everyone get their cards?”

“Yes,” Mark said, “the [hand] lotion for Brian’s deck was funny—and Myles’ hand sanitizer. But I wasn’t sure which ones were for me?”

I don’t know Mark as well as Myles, so I don’t know if he has a really dry sense of humor or if he was serious. I’m assuming the former. I tapped his chest with the stick (lightly!) and said, “The Fender ones! Your Fret12 company doesn’t sell any!”
I turned and asked Flip if he had his.

“Um, no.”

“Mark?!”

He blushed, “I put them right up on the shelf in the bus!” I shook my head. “Flip,” I said, directing my/his stick in his direction, “yours are the Zildjian ones, though to be honest I couldn’t remember what you play.”

“Zildjians! Thanks!” Whew. Should have bluffed my way through that one, in retrospect.

I thanked them all again for spending time with us, and hugged Mark and Flip. I cannot remember if I hugged Selena—I was so scared of getting her dirty. I may have just shaken her hand again. She was still smiling.

Our main group was breaking up and Myles was walking over to join his wife. As he stepped up to her, he kissed her briefly on the lips. Both smiled at each other. If Norman Rockwell were still alive and painted rock stars, he could have painted them.

Now we had to tear ourselves away. It was not easy. Sarah and I each hugged Myles one more time and thanked him for the umpteenth time. Katie, Nate, Sarah and then I, very slowly, walked away from the group. My last look was at Myles, of course, and he had his head cocked slightly to the right and had this expression… of warmth. We were both still smiling as I tore my eyes away and followed my group towards the parking lot.

We were all silent, all still digesting what had just happened. So we were caught off-guard when an older man in a security shirt stopped us about 20 feet from the exit and asked where our passes were. Sarah and I just laughed. “You’re a little late,” I said.

“You don’t have passes?”

Sarah: “No, we don’t, and we’re on our way out.”

Guard: “Well you can’t be back here without passes! You have to leave!”

We were leaving until you stopped us, I almost said, but we just resumed walking in the direction of the parking lot, now laughing to ourselves.

“That was perfect,” Sarah joked.

Yes, yes it was.