September 22, 2007

The tried and true gossip post about concert and hotel rider demands is an age-old gem. How much truth is in the "backstage diva" reports? Well... come on... truth isn't actually the point. The point is when yes men, ass-kissers, studios, and fans spend 24 hours a day telling you how fabulous you are and how much they adore you, wouldn't your head get over-inflated too? I'm not defending outrageous diva behavior (more to the point, I don't care what they do), but I am saying I probably wouldn't be exempt from it myself if I were constantly petted and praised all day long. I would, however, be a lot more creative about it than they appear to be. Even if I wasn't a diva and still a relatively normal person, I'd be tempted to demand completely asinine things just to see how far yes men would actually go to satisfy my needs. Incredibly tempted. So a sample of a possible backstage rider for me would probably read as follows:

Full range of Lord of the Rings action figures, Elves only.
2 x tigers with expendable handlers
Silver Aston Martin on call; must have headlamp rocket launchers and Invisibility Armor
20 x bouquets of Gerbera daisies; thirty-three petals per flower only
2 x bowls of peanut M&Ms; one blue only and one red only
5 x kittens; Persian, Siamese, or Burmese with yellow eyes only
Full scale replica of Michelangelo's David statue
Original of Botticelli's Birth of Venus painting
Masseur; preferably George Clooney or Marton Csokas
World newspapers with no sports sections
Marching band escort along corridors
Star Trek door chime SFX for dressing room
Coffin; solid oak, velvet lined
12 x sliced avocados arranged to resemble Canada
12 x bananas; monkey peeled
Blood of virgins; room temperature

I'd likely have a reputation as more of a loon than a diva, but if you're going to go big with demands at least have some fun with it. I mean really, draping everything in white linen and paying some lackey to run around behind you smoothing out the wrinkles is just... dumb.