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So we're supposed to play in curitiba in 18 hours, but our bus
is being held hostage by the local promoters. they've formed
some unholy alliance with the brazilian counterpart of ascap：
the prs.
Rently the prs has the legal power to arrest people, and they
want a piece of the national tour promoter's money. the local
security force, 'gang mexicana', has been bought out for 180
Zados and a carton of marlboros each. the only faction still
operating in our defense is 'big john', our personal security
man, and he's hiding in his room because a local gang is out
Is blood because of a 1982 knifing incident in which he was
involved. our 345-pound road manager, rick only had this to say：
'you wanted the life of a rock star!'. paul, jim and i real
That this was one situation we were going to have to get out of
ourselves.
We convened a hasty conference in the hotel lobby. paul
suggested contacting our national tour promoter in sao paulo,
but we remembered that he was in recife with faith no more, who
had just arr
For their brazilian tour. we thought about contacting our
brazilian record company in rio, but they weren't home. our
ever-diligent american manager was arranging help of numerous
forms, but he
N new york, and just too far away to get anything moving in
time.
And there were 6000 kids in curitiba who just wouldn't
understand.
We knew it was time for action. paul went up to the prs guys and
invited them into the bar to discuss it like civilized men over
a few brazilian drinks, offering each of them a cigar on his
way.
Amused prs heavies seemed to like the idea of a few free drinks,
even if they knew they would never give us our bus back. when
paul winked at jim and i on his way in, we went into action.
I stole off to my room to prepare while jim went into action.
creeping carefully through a service duct, he managed to gain a
vantage point some three meters above the bus, and dropped
carefully
The roof. after using his all-purpose swiss army knife
(affectionately known as the 'skit knife') to jimmy open the
roof hatch, he went through the darkened inside of the bus and
remo
He inside engine service panel. using some spare electronic
parts he found while on an island in the amazon, he wired the
entire bus for remote control, not unlike a remote control toy
car.
At this point, he asked himself 'now how shall i get out of
here？!？'
Paul was having difficulties of his own.
'couldn't you see your way clear to letting us fulfill our
contractual obligations in curitiba？ think of the kids!'
Through our translator, fabio, the prs man, aldo, said：
'no. you americans think you own the world. hah! we'll burn down
our rain forest if we damn well please. we need room for cows!!
we want a mcdonald's on every... oh, sorry, yes anyway, no.
Ed 40% of your concert receipts to give to david bowie,' he
said, winking to the local promoter, phillipe.
As paul continuted this elaborate distraction, jim effected an
escape from the heavily guarded bus by crawling down into the
cargo bay, cutting a hole in the floor with the swiss army
knife's ar
Der, slipping into the manhole cover situated under the bus, and
walking up to the hotel's basement from there. jim called up to
me in my room and gave the signal. we were now to meet at the
bac
Rance, with our tech guys. but first, paul would need some help
getting away from his unwelcome guests, as things were getting
ugly.
'he says he has lost his patience, and that he can think of
other ways of extracting payment from you kurt and jim
physically,' our trembling interpreter said.
The moment had come. jim began operating the bus from his back
entrance vantage point. as the remote-controlled bus lurched
towards the parking lot exit, the superstitious security youths
fled i
Ror. paul was pulling anxiously on his collar as the prs man
began describing his collection of world war ii nazi ceremonial
knives when a sudden crash split the tableau.
Jim had purchased me the gift of a complete black ninja stealth
assassin outfit in aracaju. i had been gearing up and crawling
through the air conditioning ducts all this time. as i crashed
thro
He cheap imitation-styrofoam hung ceiling tiles, skates first, i
flashed ninja stars all about me. in the ensuing panic, paul
escaped to the pre-arranged bus pick-up point. unfortunately, my
ska
Ere a poor choice of foot gear for escaping over the broken
glass of the table i had landed on. were it not for the
confusion and the ninja-star-inflicted-wounds delivered to the
bad guys, i wou
Ve been set upon while floundering on the glass-strewn carpet.
as it happened, however, i leapt through the open door of the
careening bus as it departed the city of maringa forever.
If only we had managed to get our equipment in the bus, too . .
.
Every word of this story is true.
- kurt h
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