Wednesday morning, October 12th, 2012: I got a call at home in Columbus, Ohio at 11:20 am asking if I wanted to work a show that night at the Midland Theater in Newark, Ohio as guitar tech for Todd Rundgren. The caller was a local musician/roadie who was supposed to do the gig, but got a better offer to play a show in Columbus rather than roadie a show in Newark. The catch was that I had to be at the venue by NOON. I put on my requisite black t-shirt & black jeans roadie outfit, threw a library book in the roadie kit I always kept packed by the door, and hit the road. Newark was a straight shot down 161 East, I could be at the theater in 30 minutes. What was it that got me on the road that quick? The gig paid 200 bucks - for one night of guitar tech-ing. That was a week on the road with my then-employer Hamell On Trial. That was maybe 7 Watershed shows.
I got to the Midland at 5 to 12, found the stage manager, introduced myself, and the guy was PISSED. He was not at all happy that the original tech – who had worked Midland shows in the past – had just farmed out the gig last-minute. Stage manager guy seemed somewhat comforted that I had been a professional roadie since 1978 and had worked national tours with Ani Difranco. (I left out the fact I was actually employed by her opening act.)
He laid out the ground rules: load-in was at 3 pm, soundcheck at 5 pm, show at 7, and the biggest thing: it was stipulated in Todd Rundgren’s contract that each stop on the tour was required to provide him with a suitable guitar tech, and that said tech was NOT SUPPOSED TO SPEAK TO TODD RUNDGREN UNLESS HE WAS SPOKEN TO FIRST. “Okay, I got it,” I said, “I won’t chat up the talent.” I thought it was funny but the guy just glared at me and walked off with his clipboard.
The whole day was a wash-out. None of the other crew guys – locals from Newark who all knew each other – would talk to me. I think they were put out that I had been brought in from Columbus to handle the plum $200 guitar tech job instead of one of them getting it. Essentially I read my book for the next three hours. “Load-in” consisted of a local Newark music store delivering a rented amp and putting it on the stage. Then I read for two more hours.
Rundgren arrived around 5 pm for soundcheck, by himself: no road manager, no handler, no driver, obviously no roadie since I was the hired-hand tech guy. He had two guitars and some kind of computerized set-up he put on a table onstage that contained all the pre-recorded backing tapes for the show, and some kind of control where he could dial up all different combinations of guitar & amp sounds: Fender Telecaster through Marshall amp, Gibson Les Paul through Fender Twin Reverb, Gretsch Country Gentleman through Vox amp, etc. It was truly impressive and EXACTLY the kind of thing a genius studio mastermind like Todd Rundgren would come up with: that 1973 record wasn’t called A Wizard, A True Star by accident.
Stage manager-guy, Todd and I met a center stage and Todd laid out the scenario: I was only there in the case of some type of genuine emergency. I would tune and put the second guitar onstage five minutes before showtime; if Todd broke a string he would walk to the wings, hand me the guitar, and get the “B” guitar himself. When I was finished changing the string I would hold the guitar up and he would come and get it from me. Under NO circumstances was I supposed to set foot onstage once the show had commenced. (At that point I found myself wondering exactly WHAT kind of guitar tech antics Rundgren had experienced in the past.) Rundgren wasn’t hostile in the least; just very private, clipped, and businesslike.
After a smoothly-functioning soundcheck Todd retired to his dressing-room. At the appointed 6:55 pm I walked out onstage to put the “B” guitar on its stand and somebody in the Midland audience yelled out, “HEY, WATERSHED!” I was kind of enormously heartened by that, and turned to wave, but couldn’t see the crowd through the stage lights to determine if it was anybody I knew. “What’s a Watershed?” Rundgren asked when I got back to the wings. “It’s the band I roadie for in Columbus,” I replied and Todd dead-panned, “Oh, great.” Taking this as an opening since he had spoken to me first, I said, “I know I’m not supposed to bother you, but I just wanted to thank you for your production work on the first New York Dolls album. That record changed my life. If it wasn’t for The New York Dolls I would be wearing granny glasses, have a white pony-tail hanging halfway down my back and still be listening to Dick’s Picks Grateful Dead records.”
Todd Rundgren looked at me and said, “Out of all of the dozens of records I’ve produced and all the music I’ve made, you only want to thank me for the first New York Dolls album?” “Well, yeah, that and your song ‘Couldn’t I Just Tell You,’ that’s a GREAT power-pop tune.” Rundgren just kinda sighed and I could see at that moment he might have been questioning what he was doing playing at the Midland Theater in Newark, Ohio on a Wednesday night, in his 45th year in the music business. “I meant the Dolls thank-you as a compliment,” I said, trying to salvage the situation. “Oh, I know you did. I know you did,” Rundgren said, “I’m just not sure I would want to be remembered only for that album.”
As for the show, it went great until there was some kind of power-surge in the theater and all the lights blinked out momentarily. It did something to Todd’s computer gizmo that was plugged into the stage power and killed the show dead. Rundgren stood center stage fooling with the settings and stage-manager guy said in a panic, “Shouldn’t you go out there?” “I’m not ALLOWED to go out there.” I replied. Just then Todd gestured to me and when I walked out he said, “The computer just needs a minute to re-set, get the other guitar and pretend you’re fixing something on my effects-pedals board while it re-boots.”
I did just that, his gizmo re-booted and he finished blazing. Todd Rundgren is now in the Rock & Roll of Fame and I just wanna say it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. – Ricki C. / 5/24/2021