ELO’s spaceship stage provided backdrop for first concert road trip
ELO's spacechip stage, which the band used on its "Out of the Blue" tour in 1978.
A pre-show photograph of the top half of ELO's spaceship stage from our vantage point in front of the stage on Aug. 26, 1978.
A concert ad and my ticket to ELO's concert at Anaheim Stadium on Aug. 26, 1978.
My backstage pass for ELO's concert on Aug. 26, 1978.
The ELO setlist from Aug. 26, 1978, is pictured on Tuesday, Aug. 28, 2018.
The ELO setlist from Aug. 26, 1978, is pictured on Tuesday, Aug. 28, 2018.
Jeff Lynne’s ELO just finished a highly successful “sprint” across North America — it’s hard for me to call just 10 shows an actual “tour” — playing to packed arenas and receiving rave reviews from critics.
It is the great lament of my summer that I didn’t road trip to Denver earlier this month to catch the band’s appearance at the Pepsi Center. It was definitely a lost opportunity as even having any chance to catch ELO live is a rarity these days. Other than just a few scattered shows over the years, the band hasn’t performed a full-scale United States tour since 1981.
Back in the day, Electric Light Orchestra was one of my favorite bands. Not just “a” favorite, mind you, but for a two-year period in the latter half of the 1970s, they were indeed my No. 1 go-to band. (And then Van Halen came along and things were never really the same. But that’s a story for another day.)
ELO’s “Ole ELO” tour in 1976 was the second concert I ever attended, but when I saw them two years later at Anaheim Stadium (40 years ago this week!) it was all the firsts that made the show one for the ages.
— It was my first concert road trip.
— I scored my first backstage pass.
— It featured my first encounter with the Keeper of the Gate, the dreaded backstage security guard.
— It led to the first time I unintentionally interrupted a rock star while he was warming up.
— It was the first time I experienced the backstage life of a (supposed) rock journalist.
— It was the first time I’d seen a band perform a concert in the middle of a spaceship.
I’m sure there were even more firsts involved, but let’s get right to the story.
In the summer of 1978, my family was preparing to move from Southern California to Utah. This created a problem for me when ELO announced a big show at Anaheim Stadium. I was still early in my concert-going days at that point, but had already seen several amazing shows that had imprinted their power and majesty upon me. I somehow felt compelled to not miss this concert, even though its date was scheduled after our move. I went ahead and bought tickets with my friends, determined to somehow make it back.
Sure enough, we moved to Utah in July. Somehow the culture shock of relocating to the Beehive State was a little easier to endure knowing I had a great concert ahead of me in August. (I also sweetened the deal by getting tickets to a Kansas/Thin Lizzy show at the Forum that was 10 days before. Somehow it seemed more justifiable to my late-teen pocketbook to finance a trip when there were two concerts involved instead of just one.)
It also helped that two of my best friends, Bruce Carrico and Paul Moore, drove up to visit me in our new Utah home for a couple days, and then we all left in two cars to return to California for our epic road trip concert experience.
Another friend of mine happened to work for a record company in Los Angeles at the time. Knowing I was coming back, she actually embarked on a plan to arrange backstage passes to the ELO show for me. A few days before the show, she secured a pair of passes — with one caveat: My friend and I had to pretend to be journalists from a newspaper in England. Yes — our passage to the fabled backstage realm at a giant rock concert was dependent on two teenagers with Southern California accents pretending to be a music journalist and photographer from Great Britain. Talk about fake news.
Of course we said yes. We figured the worst thing that could happen would be that we’d be fingered as imposters and denied backstage entry. So what? We’d just use the tickets we’d already bought and go in through the front gates like everyone else.
So it was that on the afternoon of the concert, my friend Paul and I approached the lone backstage entry portal behind Anaheim Stadium. Attempting an air of confidence, we approached the beefy security guard and gave our names.
He looked us over with suspicion — or maybe it was just pure disdain — then glanced at his clipboard.
“You’re not on the list,” he said brusquely.
I tried to plead our case, but he was having none of it and told us to leave.
Our passes had actually been arranged through that day’s special guest, which was Journey. The band was just beginning to morph into the hit machine it would soon become, with lead singer Steve Perry making his debut with Journey on “Infinity” earlier that same year.
My record company friend, to her credit, had covered all the bases in terms of potential problems. She’d even provided me the name of Journey’s tour manager, Pat Morrow, and the phone number of the nearby hotel where the band was staying. She said to call the tour manager if there were any problems.
After being initially stymied in our backstage quest, we headed to a pay phone in the stadium parking lot and I called Mr. Morrow. After explaining the situation, Morrow confirmed we were on his list.
“We’re just getting ready to leave the hotel,” he said. “Meet me at the backstage gate in 15 minutes. We’ll be the ones pulling up in five limousines.”
With our hopes buoyed, we returned and relayed that message to the security guard. He still didn’t believe us.
“Wait over there,” he said, pointing to a nearby parking lot away from the immediate entry point.
Sure enough, 15-20 minutes later, a group of limos pulled up and the Journey entourage piled out. My friend Paul and I started walking over. One man, both gregarious and authoritative, looked toward me and said, “Which one of you is Fox?” When I answered in the affirmative, he said, “Follow me.”
We headed to the backstage gate, and after the band and crew had been cleared for entry, the security guard still stopped us.
“They’re not on the list,” he stated to Morrow while nodding toward us.
“They’re with me,” Morrow said.
Over the years since then, I’ve passed similar backstage concert sentries countless times, almost to the point of it being second nature — but I’m not sure my level of joy has ever surpassed the feeling of walking with Journey past that security guard that day. I know there was a smirk in my heart, even if my face didn’t show it.
We offered our profuse thanks to Morrow, who immediately instructed us to call him Bubba.
“All my friends call me Bubba,” he said.
With that he was gone, and we were left to wander alone in the vast backstage area, which included a few tents where souvenirs and food and beverages were available. We recognized a few of the members of Journey hanging around, but we were too timid to approach them. Of course, we had no idea what we were supposed to do backstage. We were just totally winging it, worried that any minute someone would catch onto our gambit and kick us out.
There were two afternoon support bands on the bill: Kingfish and Trickster. When they began playing, we were able to go right in front of the stage in the photo pit and watch them perform. I remember turning around to look toward the crowd and being in awe of seeing some 50,000 people behind us.
We also got an up-close preview of the top half of ELO’s spaceship, which was elevated above the main stage, but blocked by a curtain from view by the masses.
In between acts, we once again went to the open-air backstage area. Noticing a couple trailers, we decided to walk over and check them out. One of them had a sign outside that said, “Tuning Room.” The door was open, so we cautiously strolled over to have a look.
Inside the room, sitting in a chair about 10 feet away was Journey guitarist Neal Schon. How cool was this? We were fascinated just standing near the open door watching him play. He was facing forward, and we were off to one side, so he hadn’t noticed us. But he must have sensed our presence after about 10-15 seconds as he stopped playing and abruptly turned and looked right at me with a look that seemed to say, “Whaddya want, kid? I’m getting ready to play before a stadium full of people, what are you doing here?” Schon sported a huge afro and a sort of Fu Manchu mustache, and his stare was pretty intimidating to a couple of backstage newbies. We panicked, and after a brief moment of not knowing what to do, we immediately turned and walked away.
Our backstage passes didn’t allow us to be in front of the stage for Journey or ELO, so we made the decision to use our regular tickets and go into the stadium. We found seats in the stands along the first-base line — which, considering where we had been for the first two acts, seemed a mile away.
Journey’s show was certainly excellent but everyone was especially primed for ELO. There was even a little pre-show pageantry with actor Tony Curtis dispatching a group of stormtroopers in a laser-gun battle. Not your typical rock show prelude.
But then the spaceship was revealed, and it began to rumble and roar as a symphonic overture thundered over the loudspeakers. The shell of the ship was opaque, so that all manner of lights were visible within. The ship broke in two, with the top half (which housed all the lighting, etc.) rising above as smoke billowed out from the main stage.
When the smoke finally cleared, it revealed an entirely empty stage as ELO began playing “Standing in the Rain” beneath the stage. As the song continued, the band members were all elevated on risers to the main stage — and the concert was off.
ELO was known as one of the early proponents and pioneers in the use of the latest laser effects, and the lighting was particularly stunning for this show. But nothing could really top the audacity — or possible absurdity — of the spaceship stage. Nothing has ever really been done like that before … or since. It was a tie-in to ELO’s spaceship-themed album logos, beginning with 1977’s “A New World Record,” even though not a direct match.
ELO always sounded pristine in concert, but the primary contributors — Jeff Lynne (guitars and vocals), Kelly Groucutt (bass and vocals), Bev Bevan (drums) and Richard Tandy (keyboards) — were pretty straightforward performers. It was the string section of cellists Hugh McDowell and Melvyn Gale, and violinist Mik Kaminski who added a lot of the pomp and circumstance live. McDowell and Kaminsky also typically performed solos, with McDowell’s over-the-top effort almost always being one of the highlights of the set.
My ticket to the Anaheim Stadium show 40 years ago was $12.50 — and who knows what exactly I spent on the entire trip. But it was worth every cent.
Ironic that my biggest regret this summer is the road trip I didn’t take.