2008 Woodie Awards
I'm with the Band
By Sonya Harvey
Issue date: 12/7/07 Section: Music
Originally published: 12/6/07 at 12:23 PM CSTLast update: 12/7/07 at 11:36 AM CST
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Over the last six years, I've had the chance to tour with a few bands.
In September 2002, I went on tour and sold merchandise for a little-known musician, Hank Williams III, the grandson of legendary country icon Hank Williams.
The days are spent traveling down a deserted blacktop road with five dirty musicians and a hung-over road manager on a light blue Silver Eagle bus while listening to hardcore music.
Everyone tries to get some sleep while heading to cities like Atlanta and Philadelphia before they have to play another three-hour gig.
The nights are spent sitting in a dark corner selling T-shirts, CDs, stickers and homemade art to devoted fans.
Ticket holders at Williams' shows are usually diverse.
There are punks dressed in studded belts, fishnets and covered in tattoos and cowboys wearing silver boots, trucker lady belt buckles and cowboy hats decorated with flames.
Sometimes, little old ladies bring homemade lasagnas and garlic bread to make sure "we're getting enough to eat."
From the moment the venue opens its doors, it's pure chaos, with people coming at me from every direction to buy the latest CD.
Bartenders offer me free drinks while the band gets ready to take the stage, but I'm always too busy working to enjoy the show.
Once in a while, I can look to the stage and catch some action, but I always seem to miss the crazed fans throwing their bras and panties on stage.
After the band stops playing, people come up to me and say things like "Hank rocked" as if I had something to do with it.
When the show is finally over, the real partying begins.
Hardcore fans find their way to the bus and begin a night of debauchery, consuming large amounts of alcohol and all kinds of illegal drugs.
Before I can head to the bus, I have to count the remaining merchandise and make a note to call the manager in Nashville if we're running low on anything.
Every night is another story to tell.
On one particular night in Houston, Gibbons, after spending the evening partying with us, stumbled off the bus and onto me and said, "I'm sorry, little lady."
The next night in Austin, he did it again and left me with a little memento to remember that incident - a ZZ Top key chain, like the one from the "She's Got Legs" video.
Sometimes, celebrities like Kid Rock and Pamela Anderson come out to watch a show.
Sometimes, we walk the streets of an unfamiliar city to explore record shops and try restaurants we've never heard of.
Sometimes, we meet people on the road who become lifelong friends, and inevitably, we end up on the bus partying into the early morning hours.
Sometimes, the last few stragglers ramble on and on, and before we know it, it's 10 a.m. and we haven't even been to sleep yet.
No matter what happens, we always wind down the evening by talking about the events that unfolded, and one by one, we head off to our bunks to try to get some sleep before the next three-hour gig.
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