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:	post by Lamp at 2007-05-21 18:22:24

Side note: Tony Erba is crazy.
Amendment: the GORDON SOLIE MOTHERFUCKERS create one of the most dangerous show environments around today with most ending with fire trucks outside.

While we were loading in a short, chunky drunk dirthead came up to me and asked if his band could borrow some of our equipment because they ‘forgot’ theirs. I asked which band he was with and of course it was GORDON SOLIE. We very reluctantly consented and my thoughts went back to how much money we just spent fixing our amps. I hadn’t seen him in about 8 years so I didn’t recognize it was Tony Erba who had asked me. He later explained that he wasn’t drunk, he was just diabetic and his blood sugar was dangerously low, and as such he was sort of out of it.

...

And then GORDON SOLIE started.

Some folks uprooted some trees from out front and brought them past security and into the pit while others brought phone books and catsup and potato flakes and fireworks and, naturally – because we’re in Cleveland – bricks. Before the first word was sung Tony Erba was bleeding profusely from the top of his head. It was hard to see past the blood and when he started singing the crimson streams flowed over his mouth and then splattered all over those in the front rows. The fireworks made it difficult to see or breath but through it all I could see Cleveland becoming totally uncontrollable.

Rather than wait to get attacked Devon took the offensive and suited up for battle. Unbeknownst to everyone except those in the wings, Devon had scaled the stage speaker towers and was poised to launch onto to Tony from above. He was wearing nothing but a wrestling mask and a jock strap lined with firecrackers. Chuck lit the brick of explosives and just as they started popping Devon leapt through the air and directly onto Tony. It was a dazzling and shocking sight seeing an incendiary half-naked man drop from the sky onto a growling, blood-soaked icon. A collective gasp took hold and I just knew Devon felt like he was at the top of his game, ready for this much anticipated bout and already with the upper hand.

But then a funny thing happened – Tony never got up. There, in a heap of silly string and ashes, covered in blood and pasted with potato flakes, lie Tony motionless.

An awkward hush fell over venue. The band stopped playing and the audience stopped dancing. Eventually the silence was broken by some guy yelling, "That asshole killed Tony!" Suddenly all we were thinking was that Devon was about to die in Cleveland wearing only a jock strap and a wrestling mask.

For nearly one very uncomfortable minute nobody knew what to do. And just when Devon’s disemboweling seemed imminent Tony jumped up and hoisted a stiff middle finger at everybody.

The rest of the show went on in the same unpredictable vain until Tony started to pass out from the blood loss. The after-show wrestling match never went down because Tony, delirious and falling into diabetic shock, somehow drove himself to the hospital.

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