Party
Like A Rock Star
For
the record there was only
one other person present when
I finally lost my lunch. And
while it's true that fifty
or sixty people witnessed
me stagger out of the bathroom
in an alcohol-induced gravity
storm and fall to my knees
on the pavement, none of them
were rock stars, label execs
or friends. Admittedly I also
don't recall exactly what
I said to Carlos Santana,
but he kept shaking my hand
and smiling while I said it
so it couldn't have been that
bad.
Here's
the thing about the Grammys
- if you're not actually nominated
for an award or an artist
selling 15 million albums,
it's pretty much just another
concert. There's no red carpet
for the non-famous, no limousines,
no paparazzi, just a string
of performers and presenters
punctuated by numerous 2 minute
commercial breaks where absolutely
nothing happens. Not that
I'm going to give you my ticket
for next year's awards, but
I'm just saying that for those
of us not on a first name
basis with Clive what makes
the Grammys so much fun is
the swanky post-Grammy parties
hosted by the various record
labels.
We
were already pretty primed
- actor Kelly Perine and I
had met Rick from Jagermeister
at a restaurant for lunch
and cocktails with a couple
of booking agents, Gavin from
Politicks Clothing, and Ole
from Red Bull.
After
a light lunch (too light in
retrospect) we left the restaurant
and changed into our rock
and roll formalwear over at
the Riot House, the infamous
West Hollywood Hyatt where
pretty much every incident
involving Led Zeppelin and
a hotel room occurred, and
then headed out to the Grammys,
bottles of Jager and Grey
Goose Vodka already flowing.
Of course this being LA, we
hit traffic, missed U2 and
arrived at the arena after
liquor sales had ended. By
the time we sat through three
hours of venue-induced sobriety
in the nosebleed seats, we
opted to skip the all-star
jam finale and make the 20
minute trek from the Staples
Center to Sunset Boulevard
where the action was.
After a cocktail at the bar
we headed across the street
to the Argyle, a quaint little
$500 a night hotel and home
of the BMG party. Past the
sheriffs, past the line of
paparazzi on the red carpet,
past the computer check in
and we were at the bar again.
Have
you ever been somewhere and
seen someone who kind of looks
like a famous rock star? You
know, where you can't quite
remember who the person looks
like and before you figure
it out you realize they're
not anyone famous anyway?
It's just like that inside
the party, except the guy
who kind of looks like the
lead singer of Vertical Horizon
actually IS the lead singer
of Vertical Horizon.
But
here's where the trouble begins:
my friends at Jagermeister
have provided much of the
alcohol for the party and,
well, any Jagermeister and
Grey Goose is great, and free
is even better.
On
top of that the Vice President
of Sidney Frank Importing
had made the trip - a friend
I hadn't seen since I went
to his office and accidentally
asked him what his job was
at the company. At this point
the party was beginning to
feel like a family reunion
so we began to drink in earnest.
First
it was Jager and Red Bull.
Then it was Grey Goose and
Red Bull. Then, with all due
respect to our friends at
Red Bull, we tried just Jager
and Goose. It was about then
that the boys from the band
Handsome Devil and I thought
it would be funny to ask Carlos
Santana to join our posse.
Fortunately before we did
we were distracted by yet
another round of shots.
That's
when Bob joined us and although
I didn't know Bob he seemed
nice enough and we all did
still another round in his
honor. It took me until the
next morning to find out that
that not only was Bob a real
friendly guy, he also happened
to be the President and CEO
of BMG North America.
Hey,
at least I didn't ask him
what he did for the company.
To
be honest, beyond that point
the night is a complete blur.
I do vaguely recall talking
with Carlos. I kind of remember
someone telling me that I
was standing next to Pink
but I never actually saw her.
I know that Kelly and I left
the BMG party and went up
the hill to the MCA party
where there was more Jager
and Red Bull. At least once
I staggered and fell and there
may have been an incident
with a fire extinguisher.
Or something.
Party
like a rock star? Hell - I
tried my best. And I had the
two-day hangover to prove
it.
Thank
you AGAIN Jagermeister.
This
column © 2002 Lee Totten.
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