SOURCE Virginian Pilot Published Thursday, December 23, 1999 Section DAILY BREAK, page E1 Source BY LANE DeGREGORY, STAFF WRITER What do Bob Dylan, Prince, Kenny G. and Phish have in Common? This guy Dominick Placco. Believe it or not, the man at the wheel is the driving force in rock 'n' roll. THERE'S A TIME of night (well, technically, it's morning, but it sure feels like night, 'cause you haven't slept in 36 hours - or is it 46? - and you've already driven through three states but you still have one to cover and the next gig starts in about eight hours and the groupies are probably already waiting) when you will the sun to wake up - to wake you up - but it's still so blasted black ahead and the bee pollen you took to help has long since worn off and your vanilla espresso is cooler than the December air and all the traffic on the CB sounds the same and your mind starts to wander. Those two hours between darkness and dawn 4 to 6 a.m. "That's the worst time,'' the bus driver says, smiling slyly. "'Course, it's OK if the guys are still up partying in back or someone comes up and sits shotgun, spilling their guts to you or something, or you got some sexual thought to keep you wide awake, but that can be frustrating. . . '' So it depends, really. There's different ways to work through the dark hours. During 30 years on the road with rock stars, Dominick Placco has done them all. He's been the driving force for Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Don Henley. Steered the artist formerly known as Prince clear across the country - with his bodyguard and a sound studio built into the bus. Played trumpet with The Violent Femmes on an Austin stage. Took Kenny G. and his band through Florida. Orchestrated two cross-country shows for Bruce Hornsby. Been on a three-month gig with Brian Ferry. Camped out in the desert with Motley Crew frontman Vince Neil. In 1994, some band Placco had never heard of - called Phish - got stranded when their bus broke down. The manager called Placco's company, Smooth Ride. He rescued the four rock musicians and their entourage. He drove them to the remaining sold-out shows on their tour, and he's been at the wheel every time they've hit the road since. Pulled into the parking lot at Hampton Coliseum last Friday about 445 p.m. - just as a flamingo sun slipped behind the VW campers; just as patchwork-skirted girls started spinning into long lines; just as the roadies were readying the stage; just in time for band members to find their duffel bags, duck into the next bus for quick showers, gulp down whatever the caterer is cooking back stage and warm up their instruments. Placco seldom sees the show. He has to catch some sleep - either on the bunks in the bus or, if it's close enough, in the hotel he'll drive the band to that night. Sometimes, he watches satellite movies, sprawled out on the bus's mocha leather sofa. Sometimes, he sneaks off for a real meal at a restaurant like Darryl's. Sometimes, he sips unsweetened iced tea and stabs wads of chicken Caesar salad and peels spicy shrimp and reflects on his life on the road. The music doesn't matter, he says. Not really. Sure, he likes some of it more than others - you know, Kenny G. is a real great guy and all that, but Placco doesn't keep those CDs around on the bus all the time. He'll drive for whoever hires him. The road has its own rhythm for Placco. He has broad, square shoulders and the body of a bouncer. He shaves his pate shiny. His bushy brows are dark brown. But his beard has bleached white Three skinny prongs poke down his chin in a devilish goatee. His watch, bracelet and pinky ring all are adorned with turquoise - the color of his eyes. His clothes all are black jeans, long-sleeved shirt with four buttons closed around his thick neck, canvas zip jacket, broad-brimmed cowboy hat, even the tassled Italian loafers that he kicks off on long hauls. A father of two grown sons, Placco is 56 - could pass for two decades younger or one added on. He walks with the confidence of an aging rock star and the surer swagger of someone who doesn't have to worry about being spotted at the mall. He looks formidable - too hard to butter up for backstage passes. But when he's behind the wheel, his face lights up in the dashboard glow. The smile softens his silhouette. "Driving. Just the driving. That's all I ever got into it for,'' Placco says. "All I ever wanted to do.'' Son of a New York City cab driver, Placco grew up behind the wheel. By the time he was 5, he was sitting on his father's lap, steering paying customers through the Big Apple. By 10, his old man was giving him cab keys so he could go get cigarettes for his dad. But Placco had to get out of the city traffic. He hit the highways in a semi as soon as he was old enough to earn his commercial driver's license. That life was lonely. So he called his cousin, who was a roadie for a small-time band called The Seven of Us. He's moved musicians ever since. "I used to build hot rods, street racers, back in the late '50s, early '60s,'' Placco says. "I knew engines. So someone sold me this old Trailways bus. I converted it. Added an old wooden kitchen door across the back for privacy. No one else had done that. Dylan, in those days, was touring with station wagons and vans. "He was the first to hire me. I did the Eagles' 'Hotel California' tour. And it sort of just caught on from there.'' The road has twisted and turned, of course. He's in hot demand, now, with bands booking him up to a year in advance for tours from Nashville to New York, Canada to California. He won't do Mexico, though - "not a good idea with a bunch of musicians on board,'' he grins. The custom, $500,000 land yacht Phish contracts costs $700 a day. It carries the band's drummer, Jon Fishman; the guitarist, Trey Anastasio; bassist Mike Gordon and the band's road manager, Brad Sands. Keyboardist Page McConnell and his wife and new baby ride in another bus, which Placco's oldest son, Dominick, recently started driving. All told, Phish takes along five passenger buses, plus six semis carrying equipment. At least 50 people comprise the band's crew. The 1998 Perevost bus Placco drives is black and dark blue, with nothing to identify it as part of a rock group. It's 45 feetlong - as big as some sport fishing boats - with bunks to sleep 12. It has two separate lounges - each with sliding partitions for privacy, two built-in wet bars with refrigerators and microwaves and gourmet coffee makers, two color televisions with satellite systems, two state-of-the-art stereos, plush plum-colored carpeting and mahogany cabinets. Two VCRs - one in each lounge - are stocked with 150 movies. Mostly, though, the Phish boys like to play chess, Placco says. They're not as rowdy as some of his passengers. "I try to keep the bus like a retreat, a cocoon these guys can escape to. It takes on the personality of whoever's inside it,'' Placco says. "They've passed up the Ritz Carlton to stay on board here, where it's home.'' This year, working mostly with Phish, Placco has driven more than 100,000 miles. Crossed the country six times. Twice, he spent one week with his wife, Sandra, and half-dozen Jack Russell terriers at his own home, a horse farm in Franklin, Ky. One night he woke up, in his own bad, and couldn't remember where he was. "Been sleeping on the bus since then - even when I'm home,'' he says. "Least there, I know where everything is.'' After Phish finished its second sold-out show in Hampton late Saturday, Placco set out on a 900-mile non-stop journey back to the musicians' home in Burlington, Vt. Then he planned on driving to his own house near Nashville before Christmas. Two days later, he'll pull out en route for the Florida Everglades, where Phish is playing a sold-out New Year's Eve soiree. "You just keep driving. That's all. Driving and driving. And meeting all these interesting people. And hearing all their stories,'' Placco says. "I could tell you some stories. But I can't. It's sort of like they become family You can talk about them. But then again, you don't want anyone else to.'' He could tell you how the lead singer from Motley Crew called him to transport a private party from L.A. to outside Las Vegas in the late '80s. How he spent 64 hours straight driving more than 2,000 miles. "And that was with no drugs. Well, no drugs for me. I couldn't afford to. I couldn't let myself come down,'' he says. "You have to have that constant high for hauls like that.'' He could tell you how Prince always insisted on traveling alone - except for his bodyguard. How, back on the bus after every concert, he watched tapes of that evening's show and critiqued himself - like an athlete agonizing over game film. He could tell you about girls who've tried to bribe him with sex, so they could just see Neil Young after the show. About women and men who beg for Placco's autograph (What's your name anyway? Aren't you, like, the MAIN bus driver? Then, yeah, sure, Man. Of course I want you to sign my shirt!) About women who wait all night for Kiss' crew to come back to their bus. "Not the band. The crew. Housewives, middle-aged mothers, all these women you'd never think were wild, just wanting - willing - to do anything to be close to the band. It's crazy. Kiss, I think, was the worst. "A lot of people think we're all just getting laid every night. And that's just not true,'' Placco says. ``The only people who benefit from that are the really sleaziest ones who would be doing that anyway - they're just getting more opportunities being with a band. "Mostly, though, it's not all that.'' Mostly, being on the road with big rock stars tastes like boxed barbecue sandwiches and smells like stale cigarettes. It looks like long, double yellow lines and glowing green highway signs. It sounds like Hendrix or Beethoven billowing through bus speakers. "It feels free,'' Placco says, heading back to his driver's seat in time to ready his rig before Phish's encore ends. "It's actually a whole way of life I've learned to love. "You don't have to have a family to have a family. I have a whole lot of family all over. You don't have to have a house to have a home. I'm at home every time I sit behind the wheel. You just have to hear what's calling you.'' The rhythm of the road. © 1999 Landmark Communications Inc.