There is a precise moment when the rock and roll glamour vanishes completely. It happens about twenty minutes after the show ends, when the sweat starts to cool and the venue lights switch to “cleanup mode.” While the audience grabs one last beer or smokes by the door, we face the physical reality of the tour: moving hundreds of kilos of gear from the stage to the street. And it’s not just about brute strength; it is a matter of pure geometry.
To an outsider, it might look like we are just throwing things randomly into the back of the van. Nothing could be further from the truth. Loading the van is a game of three-dimensional Tetris where a single miscalculation means starting over. As the person behind the wheel, I have a mental map burned into my brain: the bass cab goes deep left, the drum hardware blocks the gaps, and the guitar amps form the foundation. Every piece has its exact spot, and if a guitar case is placed two inches too far to the right, the door simply won’t close.
It’s funny how we turn into an improvised assembly line. The band hauls, and I organize. They bring the “bulk,” and I am the architect deciding where it fits. Sometimes, amidst the fatigue and the rush to leave, someone tries to shove a flight case where it doesn’t belong. That’s when I have to step in—not out of fussiness, but for safety. On the road, unsecured gear is a potential projectile if we have to slam on the brakes. My obsession with order is, deep down, my way of taking care of all of us.
There is something strangely satisfying about watching a chaos of cables, wood, and iron transform into a perfect, compact cube. It is a puzzle we solve every single night, whether it’s raining, snowing, or we’re dead on our feet. We laugh while trying to find a gap for that last bag of merch that always seems to be one bag too many, pushing against the rear door until we hear the definitive click of the lock.
That metallic sound marks the true end of the workday. It means the gear is safe, the center aisle is clear for us to stretch our legs, and we are ready to eat up the miles to the next city. It might not be the most artistic part of the music, but I assure you, without this nightly ritual of engineering, the tour wouldn’t last two days.
