Now, if you’ll please indulge me once more, I’m going to go all “Chickenfoot, Chickenfoot, Chickenfoot!” on you again … but, after this entry, you probably won’t have to hear about them for a while, because Chad, their drummer, will soon head into the studio to record a new album with his main group, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and when that happens, I fear that Chickenfoot won’t ride again for quite some time.
(A quick refresher: Chickenfoot features ex-Van Halen members Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony, Red Hot Chili Peppers drummer Chad Smith, and renowned guitarist Joe Satriani. Wonder Woman and I are close friends with Michael’s longtime bass tech, Mr. Kevin Dugan, and, thanks to Kevin, are also friends with Michael himself.)
Seeing as how Wonder Woman and I are flat broke and in debt up to our eyeballs, we thought it would be a good idea to check into a really swanky hotel near the venue and spend the afternoon drinking expensive tequila.
Yes, when it comes to fiscal responsibility, look no further, for Daddy Scratches and Wonder Woman are here to show you how it’s done. (In our defense, we actually had only a couple of those margaritas, then retired to our luxurious, water-view room, where we had stocked the fridge with a few Coronas we brought from home … because we’re so frugal, you see.)
A little while before show time, Kevin brought us backstage and let us pose with a couple of Mike’s guitars.
As shown in yesterday’s Photo of the Day, Wonder Woman struck a pose with the famous Jack Daniel’s bass:
I opted for the new Chickenfoot model:
A minute or two after those photos were taken, the band showed up, and we were lucky enough to spend a few minutes hanging with Michael, who really is the nicest guy in the rock-and-roll universe.
I have not asked Michael to pose for a picture with us in more than a decade, but the other night was the first time we’ve hung out with him since I got this whole Daddy Scratches thing off the ground, so I basically made myself look like a douchebag by hitting him up for this photo just so I could show off for the Internet.
There, are you happy? My one rock-star friend thinks I’m a douchebag now. The shit I do to impress you people.
Kevin was our cameraman, and just as he was about to take our picture, Sammy walked up and purposely bumped into him from behind in order to sabotage the shot, which caused Kevin to almost drop our camera. Luckily for Sam, Kevin kept his grip on it … and it’s a good thing, too, or else I would’ve had to have kicked Sam’s ass, and then the show would have been canceled, and the thousands of Chickenfoot fans in attendance would have been totally pissed at me, and Boston P.D. would have charged me with assault and thrown me in jail, and it all would have been because I had to go and ask Mike to pose for a picture with us. So I won’t be doing that again anytime soon.
(Sam made up for it by hanging out with us for a couple minutes … but, really, I think it would have been a much nicer gesture on his part if he had offered to fly us down to Cabo San Lucas on his private jet and put us up at his beachfront home for a few days. I’m just sayin’.)
Because I don’t like to mooch tickets off of Kevin and Michael, and because the publicist shafted me for that small club gig back in May (which forced us to rely on Kevin and Michael get us in, and did I mention that I don’t like doing that to them?), I decided to shell out for a pair of tickets for Monday’s show back when they went on sale, and managed to score seats that were 12th row center.
This, of course, guaranteed that the publicist would come through for me this time … and, sure enough, less than 24 hours before the show, I found out I had a pair of comp tickets for two more seats that were 12th row center … which is how we ended up rocking out with my brother and his girlfriend, who answered the call and made it to the venue about 10 minutes before the group hit the stage.
And then, my friends, the rock, it did commence.
Hey, that bass looks familiar!
Michael is known for his high harmonies … and let it not be said that the man doesn’t give it his all.
A hot summer night rocking out with Chickenfoot at an open-air venue on the Boston waterfront, followed by a two-minute walk to a hotel where awaited the most ridiculously comfortable king-sized bed ever, from which we did not rise until after 9 o’clock the next morning? Totally worth risking bankruptcy and home foreclosure, people.
P.S.: Thanks again, Kevin!
P.P.S.: Here’s a little Chickenfoot for y’all (and do be sure to crank it up) …