The Mary f***ing Celeste (Rememories 4)
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Wondering why I can write with my shoes off now when I never could concentrate shoeless until just a few years ago.
Most early bus touring was done entirely in my boots. Slept in them. Only took them off to shower. I guess I didn’t want to take any chances in case I was struck with inspiration and had to write.
Walking around inside the Warner Bros. building in Burbank, CA with my then manager looking for someone who could direct us to the head of A&R’s office. Realizing that we strolled right in without the usual security stop and hadn’t seen a single person since entering. Beginning to notice half-eaten sandwiches on desks and other odd evidence that people had left in some type of hurry. Going floor to floor, shouting hello up and down hallways — nothing. The Mary fucking Celeste. Giving up and heading toward the exits. Two security guards informing us the building was about to be declared “all clear” after a bomb threat.
Learning bomb threats on record label HQ’s were fairly common. Common enough that, upon threat notification, everyone we were supposed to meet had calmly walked over to the commissary on the WB lot for lunch. Not one person thought they should try to get a hold of the Wilco guy and give him a heads up?
Daydreaming about how high on the list of crazy rock-related deaths my demise would have ranked had an actual bombing of the WB building occurred with the only victims being myself and my manager.
Not to mention the conspiracies that would form.
I mean, I wasn’t even scheduled to perform. Had just flown in that morning for a meeting about my “career.” Why was I there? Was it a set up? Where was security?
Meeting a bust.