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Rob Vitale Talks About Life as a Hardcore Roadie
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Black Train Jack
Rob Vitale has lived the Hardcore life. He grew up in Hardcore's hey-day; right in the epicenter of New York City. After years of being a fan and a roadie he went on to front one of Hardcore's most beloved bands: Black Train Jack. I recently spoke to Rob as part of the ongoing oral history project: No Slam Dancing, No Stage Diving, No Spikes: How City Gardens Defined an Era and we spoke at length about life on the road and the joy of actually being able to work for one of your favorite bands...
RV: Being a roadie was a real eye-opener for me because I went from being a fan of my favorite band, Token Entry (and I loved that band; that was my band, I loved everything they did. Don’t ask me why, there’s just something about them. That’s my favorite band.) Token Entry was my band and that was it. So, to have the opportunity to be on the inside with them and have my time with them and be there from the middle to the end was huge for me. And then you learn later on that they’re more like friends than anything; they became my peers; like I could curse them out if I wanted to and it would still be all good. To the day it ended, even though I was working for the band, I was still their biggest, biggest fan. It was a thrill for me to sit with them night after night; to be on that stage helping but also to be watching them do what they did. It never got tired for me; it never got old for me. I’m still like a little kid when it comes to sh*t like that. Even when Black Train Jack was making its way through and we’d play with these bands whose records I had and whose songs I knew every single word to and all of a sudden we’re sharing the stage with them and I would sit there in awe like “Holy sh*t this guy is close enough that I can touch him.” I would get so caught up in it like “Holy sh*t I can’t believe I am here doing this.” That’s how it was being a roadie for Token Entry: I’m here with my favorite band, I’m meeting other people who I love their music and I respect them for what they are and I get to watch these great shows. And even better I get to watch for free! Every night, you know? I was very lucky to step into that. And like I said, making that transition from being a fan out in the crowd to being on the stage, man, I couldn’t wait to get up there and play. It was f**king monstrous. I never imagined playing in a band; I mean, I always did music my whole life, I always thought about it but no one really ever approached me about it seriously. Even in high school when you had high school bands and stuff: I was a good singer but I wasn’t the cool guy. Every band would have the cool kid who could kind of sing and be the front man and when they wanted to do something serious they would always come to me for help. I’d always have suggestions like “why don’t you do it this way, or try singing this part this way” and I started thinking “why am I telling you?” You know what I mean? Why would I tell them to make them better? F**k those guys, they never asked me to play, you know. And then years later here I am touring the world and my friends are getting bank jobs and sh*t. And I’m like “Weren’t you the guys in high school that had the band? I guess it wasn’t that serious for you.” For me it was music; it was life. But just going through that transition of going to shows then getting to work with your favorite band, networking and meeting really cool people and getting to that point where you’re like “Remember that great record that we used to love? Yeah, I know that guy now! I was just hanging out with him the other night!” Token Entry was a really cool experience because it was a happy, high-energy skate band that played with some other real high energy bands as well as some real heavy, heavy, pissed off kind of bands and you just learned where you fit in as far as the whole realm of New York Hardcore. When you saw that everyone had that mutual respect for what everyone else did, even bands that were polar opposites when it came to their different sounds; that was really f**king cool. The thing was: you’re there for the music. All that other sh*t, politics and sh*t, was connected, of course, but it didn’t really have to be, you know? How many Rolling Stones concerts do you think they have full-on brawls at? Go to a Neil Diamond show: is anyone throwing chairs or anything? I don’t think so. Why? Because they are there for the music. But our scene was so volatile; it was so full of young angst and aggression and getting that sh*t out of your system that you had; that kind of sh*t was always ready to pop off at any time. I mean, that’s the whole idea of the pit and dancing. It was aggression and sometimes it went overboard. I mean, you talk to the older guys like Roger Miret or Anthony Comunale and I listen to the stories that they tell (they’re all older than me) back when they were kids going to shows and it was nuts! That’s just what the scene was about and you just accepted it. It was like “Yeah, I got somebody else’s blood on me, I don’t know where it came from, whatever” and that was it. Another Sunday night and then back to school on Monday. And you’d be right back there the next Sunday night.
Be sure to look out for the upcoming oral history No Slam Dancing, No Stage Diving, No Spikes: How City Gardens Defined an Era by Amy Yates Wuelfing and Steven DiLodovico
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