“This guy looks like he just took his first step onto planet Earth.” This was my initial thought upon encountering guitar phenomenon, Richie Kotzen. I have casually followed Mr. Kotzen’s career for years. I’ve seen him interviewed a handful of times as well as having seen him perform live (on video) etc. I’m aware he often comes off as aloof and even eccentric. Thus were my expectations when I set out to meet him prior to The Winery Dogs’ show at Granada Theater the other night. To say his eccentricity didn’t disappoint would be a “Criminal” understatement. That reference will make sense later.
Kotzen emerged from the womb of the tour bus, gray-stubbled and world-weary, to a sunny, 85 degree Texas day. He sported a nondescript black hoodie positioned so as to obscure his face. He conjured a somewhat less regal, somewhat more rumpled Obi-Wan Kenobi. I found this odd, but not unexpected. At this point, I had lain in wait for about four hours, not-so-patiently braving the elements and battling my own fanboy anticipation. Cultivating my inner stalker, I had positioned myself for an unobstructed view of the bus door to ensure I wouldn’t miss the man.
He gingerly disembarked, escorted by the band’s road manager, a bald gentlemen with a prodigious soul-patch and the affability to match. Kotzen looked around confusedly; it was as if he had never before seen a parking lot. As the tour manager’s eyes met mine, he signaled me to give a little space, which I did. After waiting a beat, I approached the sleepy-eyed gunslinger and indicated my desire for an autograph. At that moment, he raised his phone to his ear in what I believe to be an attempt to affect preoccupation and continue past me. Not to be denied, I stood my ground, trying to seem respectful but resolute. Probably sensing contact was unavoidable; he slowed his pace, feigning having dropped the call, “Hello… hello…” His acting was soap-opera worthy. He worriedly sought a place to deposit his phone, thus freeing his hands, but found none.
As he signed, I asked if he would be willing to pose for a photo and he wordlessly agreed. The road manager prepared to take it, as he had graciously done for me earlier upon meeting the other Winery Dogs, Billy Sheehan and Mike Portnoy. This time however, he wasn’t able to get the camera to work. In a moment of abject panic, I saw my opportunity slipping away due to a technical malfunction, much like it had done with Paul Gilbert a couple years earlier, after having waited what seemed an eternity to meet him. Ugh; the emotional pain! In the moment it occurred to me the Universe may not want me to interact with anyone who played guitar in Mr. Big! Okay, maybe all that’s a bit much, but you get the idea.