nickelBack

SPIN
May 2002
We're A Canadian Band
p. 80
by: Kate Sullivan

Nickelback are a big grunge band with a hot grunge hit. They're coming to your town. They're gonna party down. But life for a touring rock group isn't all it's cracked up to be, especially if you're stuck in Calgary. Here are some snapshots of life on the road.

THE TUNDRA
Welcome to Grande Prairie. It's January, and the temperature is four below. It's the kind of place where kids walk to school backward to keep their faces from freezing into horrific grimaces. "We're 40 hours fron the North Pole," says a local concert promoter. "At least, the magnetic North Pole." Canadians are regional-pride people, so let's be specific: We're in Grande Prairie (population 36,000), Alberta, Canada. And don't let the flatness fool you. This city's a boomtown, thanks to the local oil deposits. It's got sushi, and airport, hockey, strippers, and-tonight-Nickelback!

THE BAND
Nickelback are in their mother country, on a hail-the-conquering-heroes tour that sold out the day tickets went on sale. The band-four guys from rural Alberta- used to traverse the homeland as Creed's opening act, but after they dominated American radio all fall with their post-post-Nirvana power balled "How You Remind Me," Canada has embraced them fully-lighters aloft, tits at attention.

The band's third record, Silver Side Up, is their breakthrough. It's quadruple-platinum in both the US and here, which makes them the first Canadian group since the Guess Who to have a No. 1 hit single simultatneously on both sides of the border. Formed in 1995 by borthers Chad and Mike Kroeger, the band started out in Hanna, Alberta, playing any gigs they would get. It beat Chad's previous occupation, selling drugs. ("Pot, mushrooms, acid," he says. "Nothing heavy.") After moving to Vancouver together a year later, they wrangled a government grand (oh, Canada!) to record 1997's Curb and borrowed money to record and promote 1999's The State. They did it all on their own- calling radio stations, booking shows, the works. American label Roadrunner signed them in 1999, and the band soon fit in seamlessly on tour with big-money heshers like 3 Doors Down, thanks to lead singer Chad's studied Gavin-meets-Eddie grampa-growl.

The guys are a lesson in extremes- bassist Mike Kroeger is a devout Christian, preoccupied with his wife and infant song (who're on tour with him). Guitarist Ryan Peake is a kindhearted bluegrass fan who's married to his high school sweetheart. (She's traveling along with their new retriever puppy, Ben.) Drummer Ryan Vikedal, known as "Vik" or "Nik," is a goofy, good-natured single guy who loves Elvin Jones and clearly enjoys road life. And Chad- well, we'll let Chad speaks for himself.

THE LEAD SINGER
"If you print those pictures, I will fuckin' kill you." Chad Kroeger is only half-kidding. He's upset about some high school photographs that were recently printed in an area paper. "I'll never give Spin another interview again," he says. "That shit's embarassing to me!" Kroeger is a tall, leggy cat with streaked curly hair- he's working a sort of Frampton-for-the-early-'90s look- and an arena-size ego to match. Like many lead singers, Chad likes to believe that any woman in any room is in love with him. And chances are, he's right.

We're sitting at a long table in the changing room of Grande Prairie's Canada Games Arena, with my small tape recorder lying between us. Chad grabs a marker and draws a ring around it, then lifts the machine and writes under it: "The world is listening." In an attempt to break the ice, I ask him for boy advice. "So here's what you do," he says conspiratorially. "Be cool. Don't sleep with the guy. Just give him hand jobs- maybe a blowjob. And don't stay the night. A girl did that to me once for, like, a month, and it drove me crazy. When we finally had sex, I thought angels were weeping."

THE PRE-SHOW RITUAL
We're in the catering room, where a group of twenty-odd crew members, all wearing puffy black tour jackets, are passing out plastic cups of Jagermeister shots. The band and their men then huddle together, hands upon hands, like a football team before a big game. "More fire," someone says, and everyone chats: "One... two... three... more fire!" Down go the shots.

THE SHOW
Nickelback's show is about three things: fire, guitars, and groins. The pyrotechnics include eight pillars of fire. (No dwarfs yet. Bummer.) A huge black banner with Nickelback in white letters (and a backward B) is the only stage adornment. It's an old-fashion, missionary-position rock concert, and even though Chad's voice is fatigued, he pulls off that practiced sandpaper-angst perfectly. Nickelback make the kind of anthemic rock that never went out of style in blue-collar Midwestern towns: no piercings, no tattoos, no DJ.

Opening with the Soundgarden-like "Woke Up This Morning," Nickelback introduce the stage posture they'll assume much of the night: legs spread, knees bent, hips thrust way forward, upper bodies undulating over their axes. They toss their picks into the crowd after every song, the kids crowdsurf nonstop, and every time Chad sings the lins, "I felt like shit when I woke up this morning," he throws the devil sign and furrows his eyebrows. "Vancouver can claim us all they want, but you know where we're from!" For an encore, Chad and Peake sit on stools to perform the opening of "How You Remind Me" on acoustic guitars. (Cue angels weeping.) Then the rest of the band comes out, and they finish the song plugged in! (Cue angels cringing.)

THE BODYGUARD
After the show, I have with Hawk, the band's bodyguard and the most soulful member of the entourage. He's tall and not especially muscular, with a long face, sleepy eyes, and a mohawk courtesy of Motley Crue, for whom he worked during their heyday. "My job was to keep Tommy Lee out of jail," he says. A former marine, Hawk was stationed in Saudi Arabia during the Gulf War. Today he does security for big-name rock stars (Tool, Fred Durst) and owns a martial arts studio in Hollywood. "I personally only train women," he says. "I can't sit in the same room with anyone who would hurt a baby or a woman. How could anyone do that?"

THE STRIP CLUB
It's around midnight, and we're at Showgirls, a local strip joint. Inside, the bar is full. A brunette with a kewpie-doll face starts her set. The Nickelback entourage (Chad, Vikedal, Hawk, a label rep, a couple of crew guys, and members of the opening band, ascendant grungers Default) take over a small elevated area overlooking the stage. The wife of Default's bassist slaps my ass hard and shouts, "Woo hoo!"

Chad flirts with a cute dishwater-blonde woman (we'll call her Daisy), and soon they're chest-to-chest, his hands on her waist and butt. The stripper onstage struts over to the rail and motions for Daisy to join her. Daisy gets onstage and does a slightly awkward dance around a pole.

"What's she doing?" a young woman in the crowd yells. "That's my sister! Come down!" A bouncer pulls Daisy offstage; the crowd boos. When Daisy returns to the group, her sister harangues her.

"She asked me to come onstage," she protests.

Chad invites her along for the ride to the next show, in Calgary. Suddenly, the sister's in my face, her cheeks wet. "I'm really scared for my sister," she says. "Oh God don't tell her I was crying. Just please, please look out for her. These are my numbers; please call me if anything happens."

THE TOUR BUS
Onward to Calgary! Nickelback have four buses: two for the crew, one for the married guys, and one for the single boys. As the bus pulls onto the highway, Daisy plops down on the couch next to me. "This is the craziest thing I've ever done," she says dreamily. "This is so magical. Just being here. All together. All of us."

FAMILY TIME
It's about 10:30AM, and we've finished the nine-hour 450-mile drive to Calgary. The band was supposed to play hockey this morning with the Calgary Flames- as they often do with local hockey teams when they tour- but Chad's bus got in too late. Daisy and I walk around the venue, waiting for the band's people to find her a flight home. Chad was "a perfect gentleman" last night, she says. "I told him I wished we could go do things together, without all this. Just us. I thought for a minute he might see me. Now people are looking at me like I'm some groupie."

Everyone has family here today, including Chad and Mike's father, a tall, portly man with gray hair who works as a starter at horse races. "My dad makes a fortune just pressing a little button," Chad says. "Of course, you have to work up to that position." Chad's old man left the family when Chad was two. Father and son have since reconciled, and the single "Too Bad" tells the tale from Chad's point of view.

Peake's parents are here, too- Dad is compact, well-scrubbed, and polite: Mom has beautiful cheekbones. Peake may play guitar, but he has the spirit of a bassist: solid, reliable, less ego-driven.

"I never had that drive for rock stardom," he says. "I always knew I would have music in my life, but not as a career. My whole family are cowboys. I was kind of at the ass-end of it, and I had to make a choice." Peake's wife, Treana, is hardly your typical rock wife: She runs a non-profit agency that aids children in distressed nations. "My wife keeps me grounded," says Peake.

ROXY ROLLER
After the Calgary show, a few guys from the Flames (who just lost to the Colorado Avalanche across the street in the Saddledome) pile into the dressing room along with their wives and girlfriends, Nickelback's family and friends, and several female fans. The room is packed-people are sitting on one another's laps, and everyone's got a beer.

"I think I'd rather be a groupie than a puck bunny," says a young family friend of Vikedal's. "That's what they call these women," she says, gesturing toward two petite blondes standing with a couple of hockey jocks.

Speaking of groupies, check out that chick in the purple fur! A delicate blonde girl in tight turquoise pants is staring up at Chad and chewing gum. Turns out she's not as innocent as she looks. "I've partied with Godsmack, Disturbed, Slipknot, and Kittie," she says proudly.

"See?" she says, holding out a pack of cigarettes: There's a photo on the wrapper of a girl wearing a bikini and in-line skates and carrying a hockey stick. ROXY ROLLER, it says. "That's me!" She named herself after the glam-rock song by Sweeney Todd and does a strip routine to it on skates. "I wear an Edmonton jersey," she says. "Calgary sucks." She wanted to party with Chad, but she's got another show at the French Maid at 1:15. She settles for a brief round of tonsil hockey on the bus.

At the edge of the room, Hawk stands, legs spread, arms crossed. "Do you see why I stay with my wife?" he asks.

THE CREW
Tonight I'm sleeping on one of the crew buses. Nickelback employ a 29-person roadie staff, mostly in their 20s, all fun-loving and super-hardworking. After partying like rock stars, they have to get up and build the set every morning around 10, joined by 25 to 30 local guys. For six hours they mount lights, connect cables, assemble ramps and platforms, prepare the "pyro," and set up sound. The ride to Edmonton is a four-hour journey between 2 and 6 AM, which leaves no chance for real sleep. So I sit up front with Morgan, the blue-eyed drum tech (who once stuck his dick in a rotary fan on a dare), and Sam the driver, an addiction counselor who speaks in the low, even tones of a yoga teacher. Every night before he puts the bus in gear, he folds his hands on the steering wheel and meditates.

THE SEARCH FOR ROCK'N'ROLL MEANING
"Whenever someone talks about just taking off and disappearing for two months, where no one can find you, I get butterflies," Chad says. "I get really excited."

"I think about it all the time, too," Peake agrees.

It's about an hour before the Edmonton show, and Chad is warming up in his dressing room listening to Alice in Chains. That band's former guitarist, Jerry Cantrell, is sitting with him and will make a cameo in tonight's set.

Tonight's performance is their best so far. "I have seen so many concerts in this building," Chad says after the first song. "Standing right over there. Motley-fuckin-Crue. Metallica. Now because of all of you, we get to stand up here, and we get to do this. Thank you so much!" The crowd shrieks.

"I've got a funny feeling my future wife is in the building somewhere," Chad tells the crowd.

Afterward, the backstage area is packed. The band's in high spirits. Cantrell happily agrees to sign one fan's rainbow-colored rolling papers, especially if she'll share her weed. Chad pops his head in to sign an autograph or two then disappears. "I gotta go. I think I'm gonna marry this girl. She's stunning." It's a lonely business, that rock'n'roll.