Of missing hand stamps and ‘impromptu’ audience participation: Prepping for Train is a show in itself

By John Katsilometes

Sunday, Sept. 26, 2010 | noon

At 3:15 p.m., Arlene Wakefield asks, "Is the fruit organic?"

"It's organic," Albin Villanueva answers, addressing both Wakefield and a stainless-steel bowl heavy with apples and bananas.

"Good, they want it organic," Wakefield says.

Wakefield and Villanueva are members of the Red Rock Resort catering department. "They," in this instance, are members of the band Train.

The threesome of Patrick Monahan, Scott Underwood and Jimmy Stafford prefer their fruit organic. And it is so. They also fancy Ketel One vodka, Red Bull, bottled water, wine, chips and a beer known as Tahoe Blue.

All of this belly-wash and snackery is being hauled into a trailer behind the stage at the Sandbar outdoor concert venue at Red Rock Resort. Tonight will be the night of Train, so this is the afternoon of Train.

And throughout this afternoon I am tailing Mandy Christine, Station Casinos' corporate entertainment manger. It's sort of a fancy title, and Christine deserves such, but her job is really Event Czar.

Whenever a need or crisis arises during the run-up to a concert at Red Rock, you hear, "Check with Mandy." If there is a question about anything related to the presentation of the concert, it's, "Ask Mandy." Shell once had the Answer Man; she is the Answer Woman.

The fleet-footed Christine agreed to be tracked for the afternoon and early evening leading up to the show. We stayed true to the concept, to start when she hit the venue and mark the end of this process at the beginning of the show.

Thus, here's the chronology of preparations during Train's arrival:

3:30 p.m.: Having pulled all of the night's comp tickets — and this is a heavily comped show, mostly because resort execs have requested a lot of tickets for the popular band — Christine walks the perimeter of the venue's seated area. Eight-hundred chairs have been neatly lined up, and labels with surnames of comped ticket-holders are being pressed against seatbacks. Christine herself marks the "ADA" seats (Americans with Disability Act, is the acronym), those set aside for special-needs ticket-holders.

Christine makes sure all of those seats are properly labeled and accounted for, because the last complaint a venue wants to receive is from someone who has reserved an ADA seat and it is unavailable. It is one of the biggest concerns for any venue, she says.

During the walk around the seated section and into the hotel, Christine takes one of countless calls she'll field during the afternoon. The band has needs someone to help sell souvenirs at the merchandise table leading into the venue. Fortunately, Christine has a short list of mercenary merch sales reps.

She calls one and says, coyly, "Hey girl, what are you doing? Oh. You're busy? I've got Train at Red Rock, and I might need somebody ... Oh, don't worry. I'll find someone." Eventually, much later, a young guy is summoned to sell T-shirts and related Train gear — and not a moment too soon.

4:10 p.m.: Christine drops a couple of tickets off at the concierge desk and, venturing outside again, is nearly stopped by a security staffer at the door. It's a new employee, because every employee with any discernable experience knows who Christine is. She gets the run of the place on show day, and those who have noticed her breezing past security personnel and ushers have noticed this quality.

"I've had people walk a couple of steps behind me, like, 'I'm with her,'" she says. "Sometimes I have to be aware of who's around me."

Outside, she meets up with casino marketing manager Julia Abouzeid, who tells her, "We do have a wedding tonight!" This seems unwelcome news, not for the young couple, but for the staff, because photos are going to be taken outside the hotel and near the venue. Christine conducts a final count of the seats. All 800 seats, not one more, have been sold for this concert.

4:30 p.m. "I have lost a hand stamp," Christine says. Why is this important? Because for re-entry, you need this stamp. Someone, somewhere, is now tracking down a hand stamp.

4:45 p.m. We burst into the box office, where a man from Canada — we know this, because he announces he is from Canada, for no consequential reason — says, "My tickets are missing!" He's asked by promotions coordinator Lindsay Lybrink how many tickets he's seeking to replace.

"Twenty-two! I ordered 22 of them!" he says, untruly. But he's having a good time and eventually seems to be interested in Christine's place of origin, which she tells him is Iowa.

"I'm from Canada!" he says once more. I'm bracing for him to ask Christine what she's doing after the show, which happens a lot. So does the claim from fans that they have misplaced tickets. Lybrink has heard just about every excuse used to obtain tickets free of charge.

"I'm the queen of no," she says. I learn that for a general-admission show, which Train's is, fans who have lost tickets are allowed to re-purchase GA seats. If they have located the lost ducats within a reasonable period of time — like, a week — they will be refunded.

But 22 lost tickets? Highly unlikely. The Canuck's two tickets, which were actually awaiting him at will call, are located and he's sent on his way. His merry way, of course.

4:55 p.m. We are led into, then dismissed from, Rocks Lounge for the band's "Underground Lounge" appearance. This is a mini-set in Red Rocks Lounge hosted by The Mix 94.1-FM. Fifty giddy contest-winners have been invited to the four-song performance. So have a few family members, but in a rare development, everyone who is not a band member or member of the sound crew — including Christine — is asked to stay out of the lounge until the band has performed a proper sound check.

The band always has control of the venue, and this band has not run through a sound check at all for either the lounge show or outdoor concert. So we all convene outside a tall, back curtain as the band hustles through, "If It's Love."

Christine takes a call from a concerned colleague asking why kids have been spotted in the bar area; she reminds that the show itself is all-ages. "We're cool, we're cool," she says. And waits.

5:15 p.m.From the stage, show emcee Pomai Uphouse ("Like, up-your-house!" she explains) of The Mix asks Monahan about a secret Twitter account he'd made fleeting reference to during an interview that morning with Mark & Mercedes. "What Twitter account?" he says, obviously not interested in specifying this Twitter name. "The secret one! The one you told Mark & Mercedes about!" Uphouse presses.

"Well," Monahan says, about to close the issue, "if I told you, it wouldn't be a secret, would it?"

Monahan is more interested in plugging the band's wine club, which is a passion he shares primarily with Stafford, who happens to live in Las Vegas. He tells the crowd he frequents Red Rock Resort. He bowls there. He likes T-Bones steakhouse, too.

The one revelation Uphouse uncovers is the band loves "The Bachelor" so much that it will perform a new song on an upcoming episode.

Afterward, the acoustic exclusivity closes with fans — all 50 — having their photos taken individually with the band.

6:15 p.m. Christine — who should wear a pedometer to chart all the ground she covers during day-of-show duties — makes another backstage canvassing, then we meet with Stations Casinos Entertainment Director Judy Alberti to sneak in a sandwich before the doors open. They were to open at 8 p.m., but because someone with authority — Christine, natch — wants them opened early, they are to be opened early.

The three of us order from the Capriotti's at the Red Rock food court, and, remarkably, who do I spot? Former County Commissioner Dario Herrera, who is bowling with his kids Cruz and Ella at Red Rock Lanes. Herrera and his girlfriend, Stephanie Wilson, named their new son, Teo.

"It means, a gift from God," Herrera explains, smiling.

I also learn that Herrera carries a 190 bowling average. Not bad for someone not formally trained.

"It's not too late to hit the PBA Tour," I say, to which Herrera just laughs.

6:35 p.m. Two bites into a veggie burger, Christine takes a call from the production office. "I'll be there in five minutes." I figure this burger is headed for the trash, but in four minutes both Christine and the burger have vanished.

"Amazing," I say to Alberti.

"Yeah, she eats fast," Alberti says, "when she has to."

7 p.m.: The 20 or so ushers assigned to the venue hold their final pre-show meeting. It's a pretty routine layout, two tiers of general-admission seating. You're either seated in the middle, or standing while ringing the perimeter of the venue. Someone asks what the ticket scales are, and there is a pause. "I'll ask Mandy," is the answer.

7:10 p.m. I'm shown a security report that is remarkable for its detail. You know those impromptu moments where an artist summons a gaggle of babes to the stage, or wades into the audience? Security has been tipped off. So I see that after three songs, Monahan will ask six females to climb onstage as backing dancers and vocalists. After 11 songs, he'll stride around the seated area with a phalanx of security guys in tow.

Of course, knowing this is a great way to impress your date. Before the third song, say, "About now would be a good time to fetch a half-dozen babes and hoist them onstage." Before the 11th, say, "I wish Monahan would take this act into the audience."

7:25 p.m. Another once-over, on foot. We arrive at the entrance of the ADA seating area, and it appears no staffer is seated there to police that section. "Uh-oh," Christine says and is about to make a call when, seemingly from nowhere, a woman shows up. "I'm here! I'm here!"

Minutes later we still have no vendor at the merch table. "I'd better stand here," Christine says as the doors are about to spill open with Train fans, many of whom will want to buy Train T-shirts. Finally a young guy turns up and says, "I thought doors were 8 o'clock!" "We changed it," Christine says, and gives the call to open the venue.

It's an orderly procession. Train fans sort of waddle in. They are not especially aggressive.

8:10 p.m.As the sun descends behind Red Rock Canyon on a sensational night for a show, Stafford meets Christine and Alberti outside the band's trailer. I keep my distance for this chat, but I do hear him telling the execs that he is indeed a fan of the resort who both bowls and dines at the hotel. Maybe he and Herrera can start a league team out there.

8:30 p.m. Christine and I finally split. She will observe from various points in around Sandbar. But by now the show's engine is purring along, like a locomotive engine, and at just after 9 p.m., that's how it starts — with blinding lights and the loud, recorded drone of a steam engine.

Train has arrived, and the people who put on this concert are along for the ride.

Follow John Katsilometes on Twitter at twitter.com/JohnnyKats.