King of the roadies is in Moncton
One of the world's top stagehands, who is now working for the Eagles, started out lugging a drum kit
Sex, drugs and rock n' roll?
A career as a rock band roadie is more like sweat, fret and travel, says Ian Kinnersley, who at age 44 has had only one job all his life: roadie.
"It's hard to describe," says Kinnersley, who has gone from crashing on friends' (and strangers') chesterfields between jobs toting equipment for little-known bands, to now being one of the world's top site co-ordinators and production managers and who just recently became The Eagles' key point man at concert sites.
"I've been in this industry 26 years now. It's all I've known. It's all I've ever done my whole life."
Originally from England, Kinnersley has overseen concert site preparations most recently for the likes of Van Halen, Christina Aguilera and the Rolling Stones before The Eagles lured him away. Not bad for a kid who took a trip to the United States as a teenager to tote a "friend of a friend's" drum cases around and simply never went home.
His career is now at the point where he can almost pick his jobs, because just about every major tour in the world wants Kinnersley to lead their teams.
It's a tough business, full of hard work, even danger, where you rely on your wits and brains as much as, or more than, your brawn. And there's no school for roadies, "though perhaps there should be," he says.
"I personally came up through the food chain, making mistakes, learning the hard way. I graduated from the school of hard knocks."
When a crane breaks, someone needs to fix it. Right now. When light towers have to be raised, someone had better know how to do it. Safely. And it all has to be done yesterday. Or sooner.
It's a monstrous responsibility, but not because Kinnersley's reputation is on the line (though it surely is), but because it is The Eagles' reputation that would be sullied in the eyes of their fans should something go wrong. That would be the ultimate disgrace in a trade where hard work and perfection is the ultimate badge of honour.
If none of today's nearly 50,000 music fans notices the efforts of Kinnersley and his men and women, some 150 of them toiling at Magnetic Hill all this week, it means they did their jobs right, because everything worked as it should have,
Kinnersley now lives in Phoenix, Ariz., with his wife whom he met when she worked as the merch person during a Metallica tour in 1993, and their 10-year-old son. He doesn't get home much, so sometimes the family joins him on the road.
"My son loves it because he gets to travel, though I make him write a book report on each city he visits."
The travel is endless and worldwide, but while it is tough being far from loved ones, the travel itself is not difficult for Kinnersley. After all, it's all he's ever done.
The days are long, 12 hours and longer. The crew rises early enough to leave the hotel by 7:15 a.m. Breakfast is at 8 a.m., followed by a meeting to go over the day's goals and, as always, the safety equipment and measures that will be adhered to for that day.
On this day, for example, a series of towers are being erected to support lights, sound equipment, special effects and the massive roof that will protect the 165-foot, or more than 50-metre stage, with the roof being built on the stage then being raised 74 feet (23 metres) off the ground by motors where it will be bolted in place by the more than 50 roadies toiling on stage set-up alone.
One slip-up, and someone's going to get hurt. And work will be delayed. But no corners are cut. For example, when lightning approached on Tuesday afternoon, the site was closed and everyone took the rest of the day off, for safety's sake.
Kinnersley is no know-it-all, he admits.
"I have really good people out there. I rely on my guys to be my eyes and ears out there. Successful people surround themselves with good people."
Horror stories abound among roadies, such as the time a massive crane broke down -- blocking the only road to a concert site. The weather can be your best friend or your worst enemy. Bad weather means no work, or slower work because the pace necessarily slows, for safety reasons.
Breakdowns or bad weather be darned, his job must be done by 4:30 p.m. on the day prior to the concert, so that other crews like technicians can move in to complete their duties under equally tight deadlines.
And as for partying heartily with the performers after the show, forget it. Crews and musicians alike have got work to do long into the night, with meetings to attend, people to meet, e-mails to send, phone calls to answer and the actual "business" of being one of the world's top acts.
As much as music is a romanticized lifestyle in popular lore, it is also a huge industry, even more so at this level.
"It's not like you might see on TV," Kinnersley says, though backstage roadies do sometimes get to rub elbows a bit with the musical gods briefly.
If you ask for some advice for fashioning a career as a roadie, Kinnersley will offer you this.
"If you are a young person," he says, "don't do it. Stay in school."
Though one is left with the distinct impression Kinnersley is quite pleased indeed that he didn't heed his own advice.
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