Point of View

Crash Street Kids in Mesa Arizona

Mesa, Arizona.  The private jet was pulled into position. The ground crew swarmed under the planes belly performing a ballet of tasks to ready it for its next journey; a red carpet rolled out to welcome the passengers.

I had received an invitation the previous week to tag along with a local Phoenix rock band, Crash Street Kids, for a photo shoot and interview for their latest album being released in May. The event had everything a teenager-at-heart could want; planes, a rock band, and pretty girls. It seemed silly to decline their generous offer so I gathered up a few necessary items and made my way out to Falcon Field in east Mesa.

The soothing smell of orange blossoms drifted across the air field from a nearby orchard and clashed with the aviation fuel that hung in the mid-morning air. A taxiing WWII B-25 rumbled by from the nearby Confederate Air Wing Squadron as a pair of Cessna trainers took off on their slow ascent over Red Mountain. I made my way to the tarmac and was met by Dan “Crash Daddy” Uhlik, the bands public relations director, who escorted me past the growing number of eager fans lining the fence.

Crash Daddy, as he likes to be called, lead me to the briefing room, which was normally used as a pilot’s ready room, to meet the band and fill me in on the day’s schedule. We walked down the narrow corridor, past a hastily converted dressing room where the girls for the photo shoot were getting ready, their giddy laughter echoing ahead of us. We continued on, resisting a temptation to peek in on them, through two double doors and into the briefing room.

The ready room was cluttered with guitar cases and amplifiers, and I made my way past sound equipment cases and coolers towards the group of young musicians and assistants. Crash Daddy tapped his guitar-neck cane on the floor getting the groups attention and introduced me around the room. The bands drummer, A.D Adams was in the process of having some eyeliner applied, but seemed genuinely happy to meet me. His warm smile and contagious laugh is no doubt a benefit during performances and a binding trait in the music industry. Guitarist’s Ryan McKay and Rickey Serrano both offered a friendly hand shake from the comfortable leather sofa’s while bass player Deuce Gregory paused from some solo practice on his acoustic bass and offered me a, “hey dude.”

From there I followed Crash Daddy back past the giddy laughter of the girls and out onto the tarmac for a tour of the plane. The Gulf Stream jet sat waiting for the band, Red Mountain silhouetted by the facing sun light and I made my way over the red carpet and up the stairs into the plane for a look around. The interior was lavishly finished in oak trim and leather seating. A wet bar broke up the seating and towards the rear of the aircraft was a small kitchenette and lavatory. The plane had been stocked with beverages and snacks as well as some portable sound equipment. It was then that I had wished I stuck with music lessons as a kid as I made my way forward to have a peak into the flight deck, and back out onto the tarmac.


From the top of the plane’s extended staircase, I looked out across the tarmac, imagining the large group of excited fans cheering to see me, as I made my way off the plane. The crowd had grown since my arrival, holding up signs and yelling for their favorite Crash Street Kid, kid to emerge from the interior of the building. Some of the excited fans hung from the fence, poised at the ready with their little digital cameras for just the right moment to capture the foursome step out, while others pressed their young faces against the links of the fence; their bodies pressed together by the fans’ behind them. 

I worked my way around the crowd, photographing the scene when, without warning, the crowd erupted in unison as Crash Street Kids ran out from the building, huge smiles flashed across their faces as they ran to meet and greet the rowdy group. They shook hands and signed autographs through the links of the fence and posed for pictures making sure to talk to each fan, their popularity no where near fading. I stood at the fence’s edge as the group rushed towards the plane and up the stairs, pausing to face the crowd for one last wave before disappearing into the jet; destined for an undisclosed location to put the finishing touches on their new album. I worked my way through the thinning crowd, reflecting on the day’s events; again, wishing I had stuck to those music lessons as a kid.

For more information on Crash Street Kids, visit their website at: www.crashstreetkids.com