The Infamous Backstage Rider
by Michele Christopher
It seems to me that there’s a lot of talk on this website about music, musicians, and in general; Rock Stars. Everyone, at some point in their life, has thought about how great it would be to be a Rock Star (I capitalize it because it’s that important).
* The Crowds
Who can deny the draw of thousands of people screaming your name? The narcissist inside of me is practically engorged – and I mean it in that sick twisted little way – at the mere thought of it. Guys want to be you. Girls want to fuck you. God how grand it would be.
* The Fame
Everywhere you go, people know who you are. They look up to you, idolize you, worship you. Really the only difference between you and a cult leader is a lack of pedophilia and Kool-Aid (and the only difference for someone like R Kelly is merely the Kool-Aid).
* The Money
I think for most people this is the greatest draw. Aside from the fame, the artistic merit, the masses praising you like a deity – the cash holds the strongest sway. Imagine having enough money to do anything you want, whenever you want it. Take trips, buy toys, pay off police to hide hookers you accidentally killed with a bad batch of cocaine. Money may not buy happiness, but it can you sure make you feel like you’re happy. I mean we’re talking Charlie Sheen hooker money here.
But I think the thing most people underestimate, or completely forget about, is the Backstage Rider. The Backstage Rider is that document that the management company of any musical group hands out that lays out the requirements that the act has for the green room that they will occupy before and after the show. Here’s an example of the Foo Fighter’s Rider. As you can see the rider holds mighty sway, indeed the sway of gods and generals when it comes to assisting a band in providing THE ROCK. In honor of that I now present my Backstage Rider. This will be my contract whether I become a famous musician, white rapper, artist, comedian, writer or merely a vagrant.
To The Management of the venue that is about to have its shit ruined –
We here at fasterthantheworld.com appreciate the fact that you have booked Travis – billed as The Most Inglorious of Bastards – to perform at your stadium/arena/community center/tractor pull/social event/barn raising (please circle applicable option).
As you know The Most Inglorious of Bastards brings forth an unprecedented amount of ass-kickery and will – most undoubtedly – cause women throughout the region to drop their panties out of sheer sexaliciousness he exudes. In order to assist The Most Inglorious of Bastards with his musical act/ stage show/motivational presentation/naked drunken ramblings (all of which could apply) we, his management agency, require the following things be in the green room and/or at his disposal for the duration of his visit. The list has been written by The Artist (and trust us, we use that term loosely).
Item One: New socks – The euphoria like effect that new socks have on my psyche is almost indescribable. Each pair of new socks that I slip upon my feet feels like having sex for the first time (except without that awkward crying and the discussion of how much money I really owed since it only lasted 17 seconds). You venue people will give to me two dozen, brand new, Hanes White Tube Socks. Size 13 ½ - that’s right ladies 13 ½ …think about it.
Item Two: Midgets – I wish you people could understand the love/hate relationship that I have with midgets. I find them endlessly entertaining and at the same time…frightening. You will provide, at minimum, two (2) serving midgets. They will be dressed in formal attire – tuxedo preferably but a nice three piece suit will work – and they will have serving trays strapped to their heads. The serving trays will have a variety of snacks (hot wings, tater skins,pizza and what not) and booze (beer, whiskey, martinis) and they will double as end tables where-for I will place my drinks. The midgets will be at my beck and call and unless purposefully fetching me stuff they are to remain no further than arms length away to assure easy access to my munchies. They are not, however, allowed to look me in the eye…it would look to much like getting a blow job from one of the members of the lollipop guild and that’s just fucking creepy.
Item Three: Digital Recording of the latest wrestling PPV - My love for pro-wrestling is no secret and since I am on the road it should be easy to surmise that I don’t often get a chance to sit down and watch the highlight of wrestling – the almighty Pay Per View. Please understand that my preference is for TNA but I will accept WWE as well. And don’t try to pawn off some shit you found on YouTube. I have exhausted YouTube’ directory of archived wrestling content long ago and nothing you can show me will be new. In the absence of a recent Pay Per View you are to provide to me one (1) hapless victim whom I will practice my wrestling moves on. This person will provide a minimum amount of offense but will, completely knowingly, fall victim to my amazing wrestling skills. Also, in the case of absence of PPV, you will bestow upon me an authentic, replica, championship belt from any major promotion. If the belt is the option provided you will refer to me as The Champ for the rest of the night.
Item Four: A home cooked meal – I know some of you fuckers have family and loved ones that cook you food. Seeing as how I’ve probably been living on truck-stop food and The McDonald’s dollar menu I will be in desperate need of a home cooked meal. Food will be southern in origin (mashed potatoes and gravy, Blackened catfish and red beans and rice, things of that nature) and bonus points will be given if the food is served by a hot chick. Extra bonus points if this hot chick is your wife/girlfriend/sister/mother.
Item Five: Hot Chick to wash my hair. – If you’re surprised by this then you have had your head up your ass for far too long. And I want to make this perfectly clear: I don’t want her for sex, or anything kinky, I’ve just become accustomed to, when getting a hair cut, having my hair shampooed. This, in my opinion, is one of the greatest things on the face of the earth. By providing me with a hot chick to shampoo my hair, and massage my head, you are relaxing me and that will allow me to rock the pants off of everyone in attendance. You give me hot chick…I give you ass-kickery. Sounds like a fair trade to me.
This list is subject to change at any time and the requests by The Most Inglorious Of Bastards can, and will, change due to his temperament/sobriety/ bladder control/ and as such we can not anticipate what he may or may not want at the last minute. Though if you are in need of ideas of how to make him happy Strippers and trips to Hooters are always easy ways to keep him sated.
That’s what I have so far. I’m always updating my list of demands for when I become famous. Now it’s your turn: What’s on your backstage rider?
Travis doesn't even like the brown M&Ms
Have you seen the Stooges backstage rider? F'n hilarious.
BTW, I am also a pro-wrestling fan. Solidarity, brother!
Posted by: Cullen | November 5, 2006 12:37 PM
when the band played places we wrote contracts up for, our rider was something like this:
We will supply our own gear and muscle, and even advertise for this. All we want from you is FOOD (real food. Not a basket of old french fries) and DRINK (alcoholic and not). If you charge us for food, we will buy it. But we will then leave it all over some expensive piece of equipment near the stage that doesn't belong to us.
Posted by: pril | November 5, 2006 6:50 PM
Cullen: What's your prefernce WWE or TNA?
Pril: That's classic
Posted by: Travis | November 5, 2006 7:36 PM
.....i just dont know what to say anymore when it comes to you....but i guess i now understand the midget fetish...
Posted by: sara | November 7, 2006 10:15 AM