An amazing thing about touring Europe playing music is how most events that are organized include a free place to stay, often at the house or flat of the organizer… And without fail, anytime it’s at an apartment building, the flat is on the very top floor, and because it’s usually a hundred-yearold building, there is no elevator. There’s nothing more fun than hauling all the gear and luggage up many flights of stairs at 3 a.m. after a show. I mean, I know my band is called Attic Ted, but sleeping in an attic is not a detail included in my rider.
One such situation presented itself recently in Nantes, France. We were invited to stay in the flat of a friend who was going to be out of town that night. She left her key and gave us free rein of her place.
Let me note that this building was huge and old, just across from the river on a busy boulevard in the downtown district. It had four main floors rising straight up from the street, then a fifth floor that had a triangulated roof line set back just 10 feet from the front face of the structure. The entire street was lined with similar buildings, like many European cities.
It took 129 spiraling staircase steps including a rickety final skinny staircase to reach the front door (I’ve no idea how they were able to move couches or beds into this place), but we were rewarded with a lovely flat, including two large windows in the living room that opened up like doors onto a gorgeous view of the city.
The day following the Attic Ted concert, we were relaxing at this residence, and the large windows were open to allow in a cool breeze. I had found a nice wooden dowel rod to prop between the window frames to keep them open while the wind blew, but with one particular gust, the wooden rod was dislodged and fumbled itself out onto the steeply-slanted roof, just out of reach, near the rain gutter.
“Oh no,” I thought, “this will not do.” Laure had been nice enough to let us use her place, and the last thing I wanted was to inconvenience her by losing her special window stick.
In college I studied visual art, which basically was training in “creative problem solving,” so I was up for the task at hand, excited to find a solution to this dilemma.
The roof had too great of an incline to safely climb out on, and the cement sidewalk 50 feet below was crowded with people, so using a broom to swoosh the stick over the edge and retrieve it from below was also not a good option.
The dowel rod was quite thin and didn’t weigh much, so after noticing an upright vacuum cleaner, I figured it was worth a shot to try vacuuming the stick to safety. I plugged it in, flipped the switch to turn it on, and while standing on a chair, hanging halfway out the window, I extended the suction end to the stick… but nothing happened. The vacuum machine was quite cheap and didn’t have the sucking power to persuade the stick to move.
Then it occurred to me that I could utilize a nice bundle of scotch tape, adhered to the end of the vacuum, and maybe that would be strong enough to get the stick back into the apartment. I placed the tape bundle on the front nose of the vacuum unit, figuring that would create a better angle for making contact with the dowel. I was full of hope as I again hung myself out the window with the handle of the unit in my hand, reaching down the slanted roof, when — boop — a release button on the front of the vacuum was accidentally pressed by a shingle, and the entire bottom half of the vacuum detached from the main unit, slid down another few feet, and was now stranded beyond reach, beside the original wooden dowel rod, looking out over the city.
“Oh hell no…This is now actually way worse,” I said to myself.
The idea of losing someone’s wooden dowel rod was bad enough, but to now think of my friend coming back to find half her vacuum cleaner discarded on the roof of her building was just too much.
I could imagine her returning home to find a row of pigeons looking at her through the window, perched upon her vacuum. What excuse could I give? Should I just go buy her a replacement vacuum? This was pure absurdity. Was my art degree actually going to fail me?
There was only one thing left to do… Risk my life to retrieve these two items that could not be worth more than $30 combined. But also on the line was my honor as a good house guest. And I was there as a representative of my country, which the French don’t have a great deal of reverence for already (and I concur), so I couldn’t tarnish our reputation even more.
And I was also representing Texas! I had to do it for Texas.
So like a real southern gentleman, I crawled out the window — not enjoying the view at all I might add — gripped the bottom edge of the window frame with the tips of my curled fingers, and extended my legs down slowly and carefully to corral, first the vacuum half and then the wooden dowel rod with my boots. I inched them upward, clumsily and awkwardly, occasionally getting hooked on black slate rock shingles until they were within reach. My companion was at the window’s edge to assist.
We did it! Both items were retrieved and the glory of Texas was saved.
When I have been asked about the high point of this most recent tour, many moments come to mind: the incredible countryside barn party at Négral in the south of France, the packed bar of dancers at Café Central in Brussels, sharing the stage with We Are The Asteroid at Horst Klub in Switzerland, the wild fun of WP8 in Düsseldorf where I taught everyone to yell out “Yee Haw”...
But none of them happened quite as high up as hanging myself out on this roof in Nantes. My tallest stage yet.
