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Real name: Larry Rader

Nicknames: Tubro

Email addy: lwrader@interport.net

Country and location: NYC, NY, USA

Age: 37

Occupation: I own a small general practice lawfirm. I do menial tasks for famous people and handle real estate matters for entertainers, concert promoters, etc.

Hobbies: Listening to and playing music, playing and coaching (11 year olds) basketball, reading, swimming in the ocean.

Fave Dave song: Shit, I don't know who wrote what! I've always thought DAVE when I listen to Had a Dad.

Dream: I arrive in Amsterdam, exhausted and enchanted from a week alone in Paris -- my first visit there. The plan for my five days in Amsterdam is to hang out in the coffee shops, buy as much music as I can (I end up with five bootleg cds of Bob Dylan singing at a folk club in NYC in '62 among other things) cry at Anne Frank's house, check out some Van Gogh and head back to NYC. When I check in at the hotel, the concierge tells me that the only music in town is 'some American band called Jane's Addiction'. I feel blessed. I head right over to paradiso to check it out. The show's tomorrow and it's totally sold out...a big event in town. the next day, I stroll back to the club, high as a kite on hash, percodan and a small gooey chocolate cake with special ingredients. People are milling around outside trying to get tickets. The door to the club is open, as 'load in' is going on. I stroll in like I belong there. It's a beautiful old church. I see Dave near the stage with a hot looking blue hollow body guitar, just hanging around. I figure, what the fuck and I amble over and introduce myself. We bullshit for a few minutes and I tell him that I'm in from NYC and can't get in to the show. He calls someone over and I'm in. Although I've seen many Jane's shows and have had many other magical musical moments in my life, it's one of the best. Sadly, I never get to thank dave.

Wait, I cheated...this is not a dream, it's a true story but it's still like a dream for me, and I never did get to thank Dave, so....thanks, Dave.

 

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