Shit, haven’t written for a couple of days, got to catch up again.
Birmingham turned out to be great, or at least really fertile for the old tour diary. When I wrote that last entry, I was really feeling pretty awful, the whole venture just seemed hopeless. I guess it’s hard to put it into words now, as I’m feeling pretty good right now, even though I’m tired and still hungover. I guess I just had the same feeling that I had that ill morning in Youngstown walking around freezing and hungover, waiting for Derek to pick me up where I would have cashed it all in right then just to be restored to Allie’s loving arms.
In Birmingham, I had been thinking about asking Josh to ‘rally the troops,’ i.e. give me a pep talk, but I ended up not needing it. I took a fitful nap, which didn’t seem to revive me at all, then walked back into The Nick. (The Nick is a total fucking dive, from the outside it looks like a roadhouse, inside it’s a dark, moist cave, the walls just papered with flyers and old posters, the ceiling papered with outdated glossy 8 by 10 publicity shots. The exterior wall of the club is sinisterly saturated with staples, but not a flyer to be found. Well, one—a lonely Supagroup handbill, looking only pathetic.) Roy Owens, Jr. was hanging out, everyone in a pretty good mood, and the cute and sassy bartender—only a little plump—opened a can of PBR and stuck it in front of me without me asking. Well, fuck it then. Suddenly my ill mood lifted and by the time The High Strung rolled in, I was up and soaring. Had another great conversation with Josh, this time about Orwell.
I turned out a great drunken set. I made a coupla mistakes, but in general, it was the good drunk, where I put a lot of feeling into everything. It was hard to read the crowd, but I feel like Roy Owens Jr. and HS applauded more at the be ginning and then the crowd applauded more at the end. I’m getting through to folks, I just know it.
I just got drunker and drunker. The rest of the bar seemed to follow suit. During Roy Owens Jr., they launched into an impromptu cover of ‘Victoria’ and we all jumped up and sang along. I poured half an inch of beer over Shannon’s head. At the end of the song, two big black hoochie mamas came up and flashed us all their big floppy boobs. So fucking great. Then, of course, Morgan poured a full beer over my head in retaliation for what I hadn’t done to him anyway. Oh well. When HS played, we all jumped up for the end of WSV and fucked shit up together. Mark Owen really cut loose and howled and jumped around, really just fantastic. At the end of the night, I got carted off to Andrew the booking agent’s folks house and slept the sleep of the just, the just barely conscious.
Drove all day with Slow-going Mark Owen, which was great. He drove almost the whole time, which was a well needed day of rest, but we had some fantastic conversations, about the exclusive nature of romantic love and the different levels of intimacy. I love debating these guys.
I got stressed out driving into Tallahassee that we were going to have driven all day and then I was going to end up missing my time slot. Tallahassee ended up being pretty good. I had time to suck down a couple of beers after all and turned out a great set to the drunken appreciation of everyone there, meaning the other bands. Chad was drunk and hilariously belligerent and the night turned a little ugly when the band before the HS (five bands on the bill that night) took for fucking ever to set up and play. But somehow everyone ended the night on a happy note. Except me. I got too drunk and started freaking out about Jacob and then obsessing about Allie sleeping with some other dude after their show at the Mercury. I knew if I called her then that I was going to start crying and totally freak out so, wisely, I didn’t call her. But they’re going to be going on any minute now, so, fuck, I’ve got to call her now.
Sitting in a pitch black corner of The Nick in Birmingham, AL. By all the accounts, the entire town looks to be a cesspool. Bad, mean, crazy homeless folks abound, like a tall clean shaven man w/ white hair and a hunch shuffling down the street, orange barf covering his face and the front of his shirt and his long gray trenchcoat. I’ve lost a couple of days here just from being sick and being busy, going to try to catch up here…
Never found a place to crash in Wilmington. Just wandered around all night after my show, trying to find the author of my lousy write-up, just in hopes of her giving me a place to crash. Finally gave up and just got drunk on vodka and slept in the van.
Woke up early and drove for about four hours before I took a break in a rest-stop. Managed to fall asleep after a while and dreamt about Jason from the Means and a partially flayed white dog that could talk. When I got to Athens, I went right over to Bob and Amy’s and spent a lot of my night with them, just hanging out. They’re both really great, they manage to be both sarcastic/bitter and genuinely hospitable. Morgan finagled a spot on the bill for me, and I played a couple of songs to, shit, probably the biggest and most appreciative crowd of the tour, at least for me. Got a few names on the list, sold a CD, watched Roy Owens Jr. and then took a dive for the bunk. I just have not been able to shake this phlegmy thing that I developed as soon as I left NY. I slept through the third band and The High Strung and then Bob and Amy woke me up and I followed them home and slept wonderfully in their guest bed. Their house has always been an oasis for me, I always manage to make it to Athens when I’m on my last leg and I always leave feeling replenished.
They treated me to breakfast the next morning and then I had to drive straight to Nashville. The High Strung had stayed up until seven in the morning and I couldn’t compel one of them to ride with me. It sucked, third day in a row driving by myself. When I hit Texas, I’m going to go insane. A five hour drive quickly turned into a seven hour drive w/ a couple of well-placed accidents and I made it to The Bluebird Café on time only with the hour we gained by changing time zones. Even then, I was all shaky and jittery from driving so fast for so long without break.
At the Bluebird, I got really, really nervous, like I used to when I first went out. I guess subconsciously I saw The Bluebird as a rubicon, you know, that’s where I started when I went out solo for the first time and it was a total joke, driving two days to play one song for no money. You’ve come a long way baby, now just driving one day to play three songs for no money… Anyway, I guess it was important to me for it to go well as I felt like it would be a sign of progress.
It’s always tough being there because it’s so crowded and it’s so not my crowd. It’s a bunch of older folks out for dinner and then a bunch of young bucks—one guy I saw had the black cowboy hat w/ the sharp creases and silver buckles, a full length rancher’s leather coat, black cowboy shirt w/ silver piping, new black jeans, black boots w/ square toes and a black goatee to match. Christ on a crutch. When I got up there, I was just fucked up, my face was all prickly and I wanted to shit my pants. Four ultra-sincere chick songwriters had preceded me, so I said “It’s so great to see these strong women songwriters… and all of them singing about some jerk that left ‘em. I am that jerk.” And I had ‘em from there. It was like I had a plant in the crowd, one woman laughed at the first possible appropriate moment and kept laughing the whole way through. All in all, an unmitigated success.
I jumped back in the van and drove over to The End to try to hop on The High Strung bill. Josh was great, he asked the soundguy for me if it was cool, then came over to me shaking his head. “Wow,” he said grinning, “that was a pretty emphatic ‘no’.” So, fine, I just watched last night.
A high point last night was seeing the Hot Pipes, who were really great. If I was uncharitable, I would say they had ‘emo’ leanings, but I’m not uncharitable. After the show, I hung out w/ Roy Owens Jr. and we talked about the possibility of doing a tour together in the spring. Right now, I don’t think that it’ll happen, but fuck, that’d be a good shot in the arm.
They roped me in to crashing on their hotel room floor, though I wanted to hang out w/ The High Strung. I slept pretty well, but had a long, semi-coherent dream this morning that disturbed me. Dana came to me because she was distressed about Jacob, I guess it was revealed that when he died, he was HIV positive. At one point in the dream, I was riding her around on a bike, cradling her in my arms and I was really aware of her big breasts and I was getting hot for her. Later in the dream, Allie came and told me that she was HIV positive, and I couldn’t figure out what was worse, if she had gotten it from someone else or if she had gotten it from me, and then I couldn’t figure out if it was worse if I had it or if I didn’t. I’m still sad and scared thinking about it. But the tumor on the base of my cock is gone. Got to take my good omens where I can get ‘em.
Sitting in the Soapbox Laundro Lounge in Wilmington, NC, listening to the world’s worst college rock band “in the vein of the Beatles and Pink Floyd” as their posters say. And pass me the lampshade, I’m drunk again.
Chad rode w/ me all day yesterday, from Morgantown, WV to Charlotte, NC. It’s clear that the road has taken its toll on Chad’s friendships w/ the rest of the guys in the band, but man, I can’t imagine what he would do if he wasn’t in a band. I drove the first leg, and then he took over driving for the last three or four hours and let me pass out enough to drool all over my pillow in the back of the van. That’s like REM sleep for me.
Tough show last night. Have I said that before? Well, let me say it again, tough show last night. Played at The Room in Charlotte, NC to a grand total of two people who weren’t in the bands. Wow. Soldiered through though, and managed to even win over The Roy Owens Jr. Wasn’t sure about them at first, as they all seem to have large personalities, which I’m sure is fine w/ The High Strung, the most accommodating, non-confrontational band in the world, but it almost always spells trouble for me. They made it clear from the start that The High Strung was headlining and that they weren’t going first, even though I’m playing through HS’s equipment. But after the show, man, me and Morgan really hit it off and he insisted that I play with them in Athens and Nashville and that he would go out of his way to make it happen. His plan is to tell the soundguy that I’m their lead guitar player and just let me do a couple of songs before their set, and then their real lead player (who used to play w/ Crooked Fingers!) will step up and do it. Fucking great. They really seem to be great guys so far, real dudes, I spent a fun half hour talking to Quinn, their guitar player, about the headstock repair on his Les Paul, whether the P-90s in it were original, etc., etc. A good turn of fate so far.
At the eleventh hour, we were without a place to crash, so I just took a chance and asked the cute bartender if we could stay with her. She was a little coy about it at first, but we ended up heading back to her place w/ a case of bud light, fucking fantastic after we were looking at sleeping in a rest stop in our vans and I was doing surface area calculations to figure out who would be warmer in my van w/ me, Chad or Mark. Derek rode back in the car with her and seemed to be making good time with her, so I was happy someone was going to score. Then he insisted that we all sleep in her bedroom (meaning Derek was going to get nothing, or we were all going to get a show), so we all laid out our sleeping bags on her floor, taking up every available inch of floor space. I was the first one to lay down and I went right to sleep. Josh slept right next to me, not an uncomfortable closeness. Well, except for when I woke up w/ a huge throbbing boner in the morning. For those of you keeping score at home, the painful tumor on the base of my cock is still there, still kicking ass. I walked out to the living room and Derek was laying on the couch, watching TV. He appeared sleepy, which could have meant that they had a busy night that I slept right through, or he could have appeared sleepy because he always appears sleepy. After a while, the whole crew except for me and Derek adjourned to the thrift store, and I was finally able to ask him what happened. Apparently, after we all laid our beds out and I passed out, Derek and the bartender adjourned to the living room to “watch some TV.” And apparently, while they were “watching this TV,” Derek fell asleep and the cute bartender slept alone in her bed with a bunch of smelly band guys laying at her feet like stray dogs. Derek, to this date the most reliable High Strunger, showed me that even the MVP sometimes fumbles the ball at the one yard line. Man, nice work.
I felt sick this morning, sinus trouble and a head full of phlegm. I’ve been drinking too much beer, well, drinking too much in general, but specifically too much beer. Managed to get some time making booking phone calls and got some internet time on the bartender’s computer. After about ten phone calls to a place in Houston that went unanswered, I got an e-mail from the booker that he’s got a show for me and asked me how much ‘compensation’ I was looking for. Fucking great. Still no word from anyone in Denver, though. A booker in Flagstaff wrote me back w/ suggestions for other venues as he can’t help me, what a nice guy. Then today I got two calls, one from a booker in New Orleans who, though she can’t give me a show because their club is closing, she wanted to call to try to hook me up with some other good bands and tell me that she enjoyed the CD. Great shot to the confidence. Then I got a call from a booker in Nashville, who told me she had an early slot for me for three songs, so now I’ll have two shows when I’m in Nashville, when I had been planning to just take that day off. I was in a great mood all day, feeling like I’m really making progress.
Took the Pod in for a carwash to get all the salt off it. Found out that it so noisy to drive because the seal on the driver’s side door doesn’t work at all. Found that out by getting fucking drenched by the carwash. Christ.
Made it into Wilmington dead on my feet and managed to get a nap before the show, another tough show. Played to about four people who weren’t in the band tonight… so I guess it’s actually a step up. The write-up that I got here is pretty decent sized, the picture of me is totally huge and gratuitous, but somehow it wasn’t good for any people, so far not even the writer who wrote it. Now if I can just find a place to crash tonight…
Tatyana’s birthday today, I can’t forget to call her. Pretty rote day today, rode w/ Chad from Morgantown, WV to Charlotte, NC. A long drive, but after a tough couple of hours of driving, Chad took over and let me sleep for maybe three hours, which I guess I needed. I have a tickle in the back of my throat and a head full of snot, which I’m really hoping doesn’t blossom into anything serious. The tumor on the base of my cock has shown no change, but at least it’s not bigger. My van is coated w/ a pretty thick layer of salt and is in dire need of a good going over; I have to caulk the passenger side window in and get rid of the tape and clean off the grease pencil, dismantle the rest of the window apparatus inside the door, check the tire pressure as it feels soft, check all the fluids, clean the cabin out, shit, lots to do tomorrow. I’ve slacked off booking, too, which I really need to pick back up on.
Okay show last night, I sold a CD and got some names on the e-mail list. Had a couple of stand-offish responses from people I asked to sign the list who didn’t see the set and were suspicious about signing up, one a girl w/ bad burn scars on her face, and one a young looking guy w/ a huge lame tribal face tattoo. Guess they’ve got enough problems as it is without my e-mail persecution. It was tough playing through Josh’s rig, but I guess I’ll get used to it. I didn’t get a great response from the crowd and was stinging about it, but then when the High Strung played, there were times when the room was nearly empty. The new songs sound really good, I’m really looking forward to learning them. HS has such a winning formula of writing songs really pretty and then playing them really tough. I was reaching for a comparison last night and couldn’t really come up with it, which is great. The Who w/ better songs, maybe? The live versions of Money and Twist and Shout? Stiff Little Fingers?
(Great moment just now, a girl who works at The Room, the venue we’re playing at in NC told Mark they were getting a buyout and asked him how many people were in the band. He sort of shrugged and said “Uh, five?” When she left, he looked at me and shrugged and said “Can I do that?” Good man.)
Feeling sluggish today, like the goose in the cage being force-fed so my liver will be good for pate. Got to find a way to get some exercise. Got seven drink tickets last night, but managed to not get too fucked up, I guess I deserve a pat on the back for that. Still drunker than is prudent when I drove back to the girls’ house we stayed at, but didn’t get any drunker, and even managed to snag a futon before the HS got there, something I swore I wasn’t going to do, whoops…
Sitting in a freezing bar in Morgantown, WV. I’m a little nervous about the show tonight, both about playing through Josh’s amp before their set, and about playing in between the opener and them (to say nothing of the rest of the pickup gigs ahead of me) but, man, is it great to see ‘em. I had just pulled in to a parking lot close to the club and was walking in to find out what was going on, having spent the whole drive with one eye on the road looking for the bus, when who should pull up? Mark rolled down the window and we all awkwardly grabbed hands through the window, then someone said “get in” and I did.
We went to a coffee shop and immediately launched into a quick-speaking conversation about the usual crap, how things had gone in NY, what we had been up to since the last show together, how everyone’s gear was holding up, what new stuff we had. At one point Josh said “You want to use my amp?” and I said “Would I?” referring to an old joke, sort of an inside joke with myself, and Mark Owen, without missing a beat, opened his mouth for the first time since they pulled up. “Hair lip,” he said, smiled, and turned the page on his newspaper. I continually feel like I ask too much of these guys, but every time I feel like I overstep my bounds, they counter by offering more. Man, it really feels so great to be restored to my friends.
Mark Owen, who has the burden of being one of the smartest dudes I know and also one of the most inarticulate, tried to put it into words one night outside of Sine. I won’t try to quote him, but he said that we had a special bond together, because we understood what everyday life was like in NY, and we also understood what it was like out on the road, in the middle of some small bullshit town in some boundless state, which for all the human contact you have keeping you grounded, could be the surface of the moon. As usual, he’s right.
Last night ended up being pretty ridiculous. Jessi, the waitress from Cedar’s who helped me set up the show and her friends showed up and we all watched Bush’s State of the Union address and heckled. After noticing a senator dressed in a pink blazer, I got off a good ‘Senator Mary Kay’ joke. Then I played, to about four people and only a polite smattering of applause. One of the owners of Royal Oaks gave me ten bucks, mostly out of pity, I think. Still, God bless the Kennedy brothers at Royal Oaks, I’ve never failed to get overly compensated for playing there.
We proceeded to Jessi’s house. I loosened up a fter a couple of drinks, darkened only by the presence of a hilarious, radiant baby-faced young guy with a suitcase full of funny stories who kept referencing his felonies and his time in prison. Man, what a nice guy to be saddled with such a dark burden. I fell asleep on the couch watching Family Guy DVDs and woke up with a crick in my neck. Discovered a small painful lump at the base of my junk when I was in the bathroom. Doesn’t strike me as herpes or genital warts, probably just a plague from a righteous and wrathful God.
Youngstown strikes me as a pretty ill place to live. Jessi seems really nice and mostly at peace, but other times she strikes me as just heavily sedated. She does seem to have some unfocussed ambition, but lacks any real options. Thank fucking God I got out of New Hampshire.
Looks like I landed another show in Norman, Oklahoma, and a write-up in North Carolina. Fantastic progress. Great conversation with Josh tonight about booking. I have an interesting relationship with Josh, I continually find myself competing with the rest of the world for his attention. It usually doesn’t bother me, or it shouldn’t, as I wouldn’t be so interested in talking to Josh if he wasn’t so interested in the world. Mark is quiet, as usual, but happy enough to talk once we get to the club. Chad’s punchy and chomping at the bit in every direction, ready to rock, ready to nerd out about gear, ready to scrap. Derek’s mind appears to continually be sitting on a porch somewhere or icefishing. He is such an easy-going methodical person, it’s quickly apparent how valuable a character he is in a band called The High Strung.
On the road again, mang oh mang. Sitting on a wooden folding chair at Royal Oaks in Youngstown, OH, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on the juke box. It feels like I’ve been here every night for the last four months. One day into this leg of the tour and I’m already hideously lonely.
Yesterday was a drain. Woke up exhausted with a shitload of stuff to do before I could leave. My eyes hurt and were really red; just what I need, to come down with another one of my trademark weird diseases on the first day of a month long leg. Allie, as usual, was a really good sport about how neurotic I was getting packed and trying to get the last things done. It was so fucking depressing leaving her apartment, not just because we’ve hardly left it in the last month, but also because it’s been ‘our place.’ I mean, she’s always lived in the same apartment and I’ve always liked it, but I only ever stayed there for a week at most (over 9/11) and I always had my own apartment to get back to. Living together every day for a month was so great, like a little honeymoon. It was actually tougher to leave this time than it was in September when I set out for Nashville. I guess we know how crappy it is to be apart now. We both managed to keep it together while saying goodbye, though I was really sad until I thought about the look on her face when she found my stash of porno mags that I hid under her pillow…
Got on the road only half an hour late, by ‘on the road’ I mean stuck in traffic waiting to get into the Holland Tunnel. It took me six and a half hours to get to Galaxy Hut, so only two and a half hours more than Mapquest said. I was congested so I took some Dayquil and then I didn’t have a chance to eat, so I was feeling pretty crappy and out of it when I got there. I helped Benjy Ferree set up his shit and then ate a chicken sandwich w/ fries while he tuned up and talked to me. He’s pretty great, I’m really envious of his voice and his songwriting and his arrangements. He knocked out a great set and then, as soon as he finished, about half the room got up to split. Which sucked because none of my people had made it out. I set up and launched into it as soon as I could, but never really felt good. After, I forced myself to get up and try and get names on the mailing list. One girl, when I asked her to sign the list, said “Oh no, we’re not going to give you another victim!”, not kidding at all. Her friend grabbed my mailing list (the new notebook that I bought specifically as a mailing list, with the snazzy blue cover that I splurged on, 2.99 instead of 2.49) and started scribbling in it. I grabbed it back from her and she struggled for a second. Hey, thanks a fucking lot, it’s not a credit card I’m asking you to sign up for. If you don’t like what I’m doing, fine, don’t fucking sign it. And I wish you well, you know, I hope all your creative endeavors (like getting rainbow Post-its for everyone at your customer service job instead of those light yellow ones) go really, really well.
(Okay, now they’re playing Modest Mouse, you know, Royal Oaks ain’t all bad)
But the night pretty much soared from there. Benjy and his excellent girlfriend Laura (she drives a Previa, too!) brought me back to her place to crash. It was totally perfect, a little nondescript one bedroom into a sleepy little apartment building that was totally fucking trashed, a huge stack of books and DVDs next to the TV sitting on a cardboard box, dirty plates and cups on the floor. Benjy hooked me up with a big glass of bourbon and a tiny little guitar and a great mattress on the floor. We talked for a long time and then I fell asleep while he watched the Ken Burns Civil War DVD. I slept well except for one creepy nightmare which I can’t remember now and waking up at one point to squish a tiny bug crawling on my stomach, but even that wasn’t too bad. And when I woke up in the morning, my pink eye was gone. Ha!
Left around two and drove pretty much straight to Youngstown. The van drove great, as usual, and I quickly got back that kink in my neck/back that I had the whole last trip out to NY from CO. Well, fuck, what can you do. For a lot of the day, I thought about the High Strung and how much I’m looking forward to spending time with them again. I swear, this time it won’t go undocumented.
In many respects, I’m glad to bring my time in NY to a close. (Ha ha, the Strokes are playing now, perfectly timed for a distopic rant against NYC). My show at N6 was a big disappointment, at least to me. I mean, there was a core of people there that made me feel really good; without naming names, let’s just say a lot of friends that have weathered the good and the bad with me. But there were some conspicuous absences as well, not just old friends who are into being pals with me (I think) and are into me helping them (I know) but could give a shit about what I’m doing, but also just about anyone and everyone I know from booking them at Luxx. These are the same people who give me mad ups every time I see/talk to them, but have so far failed to come and see a single show of mine. Which makes me seem like an idiot who got played because of my position of some power in the NY rock scene, where folks sucked up to me because they thought I could help them and I thought they actually liked me. But I don’t feel like a sucker, because the bands who I helped or tried to help, I actually believed in. Given that time back, I would act the same way.