I have a lot of bands stay at my apartment. It’s the result of accumulated friendships, mixed with general concern for my brothers and sisters that are out there on the ragged edge, playing their asses off and hoping to make enough money to eat.
Bands tend to smell. Too few showers, no opportunities to do laundry and a diet that consists of Doritos, hummus and PBR by the quart all add up to one smelly-ass group of musicians. Did I mention that stage lights are about 115 degrees?
Coleman (cue the Stereotypes) has stepped into the fray with a godsend: a battery-operated shower that connects right to a big jug of water, allowing you to do some roadside cleansing. Of course, this thing looks like it has less water pressure than my urine stream, so I wouldn’t expect a Four Seasons-esque showering experience. Then again, when you can smell your own crotch while playing, sometimes even a marginal “whore’s bath” is the way to go.