Where Should I Begin?

MODE Weekly’s Editor is in Germany. The Publisher is out sick. MODE has a brand new production staff that has no clue what goes where…

So, I’m proud to introduce the Editorial Coordinator’s Note!

This may be a short-lived column (this issue only), but it gives me a chance to express my feelings about a remarkably important, and clearly under-addressed topic, that is obviously being purposely ignored by the entire MODE staff.

The topic, of course, is POISON.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a Poison fan, but I’m no groupie. I own a couple of CDs, that’s it. Yet I was mesmerized the minute I found out the band was coming and knew I had to go. I was excited. Okay, maybe I was a "little" giddy.

So, let me tell you a little story …

It all started rehearsal night. It was WTPA’s 20th Birthday celebration and I’m waiting for Program Director Chris James with a security guard near the "back stage" gate when this man motions to me with his finger to come over to him. I walk over and we start talking, I tell him "My name is Lisa, I’m with the local alternative paper, I’m here to cover the concert, blah, blah, blah". After a minute, he tells me that he has business to attend to, but that if I needed him in the next two days all I had to do was ask. So, I reply, "thanks, but what’s your name?" he turns, smiles, and says, "Bobby Dall, I’m the bassist."

Bobby Dall?!!! He has short hair now… with bleach blonde tips. I had no idea. I wanted to die.

So, rehearsal began (without Bret Michaels, the lead singer, who was busy doing an on-line chat) to an audience of a few family members and friends. They played. I watched. It began to pour. I headed for cover, arriving dripping wet into the production trailer (where I began my evening) — to find Bret on the phone. I don’t think I’ve ever shut a door so quickly or quietly in my life. Then, I run into Bobby again. I told him I’d be back the next day, he said he looked forward to it. And I was off.

I flew home, dug out my copy of Look What The Cat Dragged In, and tried to pick out which one of the long-haired, 80s musicians was young Bobby Dall.

Next day: Debut Concert Day. Sound check ends and I waltz backstage with my VIP pass to find Bobby peering out from his trailer (almost hiding from the screaming fans). He waves, smiles, and motions me over. For the next twenty minutes, we made small talk, about nothing important, with such ease... it was almost as if the circus-life of the rock world had somehow slowed down to a normal pace — even though crew members and others were vying for his attention every other minute.

I attribute that comfortable familiarity to one thing: Bobby remembered. Less than twenty-four hours before, I didn’t know who he was. But at that moment, I wasn’t a reporter anymore. I wasn’t a groupie either. I wasn’t even a diehard fan. I didn’t "want" his time. So we talked.

Let me tell you what I learned: Bobby Dall is, by no means, just another member of just another ’80s "hair" band. He’s gorgeous! And to be sure, he has taken advantage of the years in this business that have made him one of the smoothest (and nicest) people I’ve ever met. He actually read MODE’s article on the concert, asking to keep a copy for himself and signing another for me. He even offered to pose for a few pictures, like the dreamy one above. And then he was gone. Off to the hotel to prepare for the show.

So right about now, I’m pinching myself.

Now it’s concert time. It’s pouring rain, but it seems as though the crowd kept getting bigger and bigger. After Slaughter, Dokken, and Cinderella finished, I surprisingly find myself watching Poison from right on stage! While the Publisher was elbowing down in the media pit below the front of the stage, the Production Coordinator and waved smirkingly at him from stage-left.

The show was incredible — the boys were on the money, mixing new tunes with old, performing a live show akin to those that brought them such acclaim years ago, complete with pyrotechnics and their signature neon green.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I get to join the WTPA staff on stage to sing with the band! I was dancing around, having a blast when I smack right into Bobby Dall’s back, who turns around and says, with a huge grin, "what are you doing up here?" I didn’t answer. I just laughed. We danced over to his microphone and began to sing. The song was KISS’ "Rock and Roll All Night." How fitting, the words of the song playing like a score to one of the craziest nights of my life.

The song ended. The concert ended. The stadium lights dimmed. I went home. But I know it’s not over... They’ll be back, and so will I.

Lisa M. Hummel, B.S.