Part 2 – No Treble

We had another day off last night. I hate having them so close together. We had a show in Kalamazoo, MI fall through. I suppose it was just a little TOO convenient along our route for the universe to allow. We made the best of it and visited family in Chicago. We’ll be there next week for a show as well. But, it kind of irks me to pass iconic venues like the Empty Bottle on California Street and not be playing there. Due to geography, we had to loop below Michigan and dip in Illinois so we could head north for the next run of shows.

Day 6 – Milwaukee, WI

It was one of the weird days on tour where we didn’t have a place to stay. We had some time to burn before the show so we opted to find something to do. Killing time can either be rejuvenating or just like it sounds. Waiting to load into an empty venue is depressing. Going to a museum or movie to wipe some hours off of the clock doesn’t really work for us. We don’t like to leave all of our gear unattended. We looked for some parks to hang at, like a pack of loitering drifters. I found a nature preserve called The Lion’s Den. Spoiler Alert: There were zero lions. Lame. Everything else though was nothing short of breathtaking. After dealing with shittastic weather for the last week, the gods finally smiled upon us. It was gorgeous and all blue skies as we pulled in. It was a three mile hiking loop along views of Lake Michigan and bluffs worthy of selfies at every angle. We went through the maze of paths to finally get down to the break. The water was warm and we all took turns showing our complete lack of skill skipping stones. We wanted to swim but had nothing more than the clothes on our back and a two mile trek back to the car and nowhere to change. We’ll get you next time, Gadget!

This gig was also really difficult to book. All the usual spots had full bills months in advance. I finally got a response back and the communication was spotty at best. Normally if there’s a breakdown in communication trying to get a hold/confirmation, it’s a big red flag. It was about two months till the show and I received an email saying that we had a hold… sort of. This venue said that the hold wasn’t really a hold and we would need to jump through some flaming hoops to make the show happen. I started to look elsewhere. I’ve been doing this long enough to know what that usually means. Nothing else was working out though. We had an enthusiastic response in nearby Springfield, Illinois of opening for a very well established band. The last response was “I think we can make that work! Let me confirm the budget and I’ll get back to you by tomorrow at the latest.” And then like a tumbleweed on the Oregon trail, that correspondence moseyed on away in the easterly nearly wind, never to be seen again. Like, why even respond at all?

We had no choice but to go with this flaky venue. It took them over three weeks to get back to me confirming a hold. They were offering 15% of bar sales for a three hour time slot. The email also made it clear that this was NOT a confirmation and that they could cancel the show at any time, for any reason, even after confirmation. We have played these bar percentage shows before. Sometimes, if a bar is busy, it can be quite lucrative to play to a venue with dedicated regulars or walk-in traffic. It’s a slog to be background music but sometimes it’s a necessity. At times, it can feel soul-sucking but you’re performing your craft and getting paid for it (in theory). That’s nothing to sneeze at. So, stop sneezing at it. You’re getting germs everywhere.

A spell of time later, we get an email asking if we’ve found a local band to accompany us. Awesome… No, we haven’t. A lot can be said on ideally whose job this should be. That can be debated at another time but for us, we were two weeks out. Any local band you get in that time frame will probably not yield great results. If by some miracle, all the band members are available, the window of time to promote is minimal at best. Then, you have to share the kitty at the end of the night. I sent out some Hail Mary’s in hopes of curating a cool double bill. A few responded polite no’s and others warned us of the venue. We had no choice but to play it alone. It was dawning on us that it’s gonna be one of ‘those shows’. Despite this, we always try to go into every venue with a positive attitude. We’ve gotten surprised before at seemingly despairing circumstances. So, let’s cross our phalanges that’s the case here.

We showed up to a semi packed venue. There’s a huge bear-like dog walking around behind the bar. Maybe it works for the health department? It greets us with its overly large head and quickly moves on to other stimuli around us. The bartender takes us to the back room. It’s a hot, muggy, dimly lit, normalesque backroom with some odd stadium seating flanking the walls. She is helpful but nonchalant about our presence as she reaches for the AC. The room has scattered tables and chairs stacked up. We’re informed that if we want them out of the way, it’s our job to take them to the basement. We would also be running our own sound for the evening as someone hands us a portable PA system. They have also lost their microphone and XLR cable. Look, we aren’t divas. We aren’t gear snobs or even that particular about what equipment we play on at shows. Danny will play on water jugs and frisbees for cymbals and make it sound good. And we’ve run our own sound before. But, I just wish venues would be more upfront about what they are offering. Just say “room for rent, BYO-Everything”.

The outside crowd was a mixed bag. The Wednesday trivia crowd came and went. We had hoped more people would file in. For every kind person outside that embraced and personified the stereotypical midwest charm and congeniality, we had a cracked out person that was semi-hostile to us. And we’re from NYC… we know the difference between fun weird and unstable weird. It’s a rite of passage to be exposed to both early on and know how to engage or disengage from both. I had one of the latter aggressively explaining Supreme Mathematics to me and when I inevitably kind of zoned out, he would double down on his tone and quiz me on what he just sermonized about. Dude, chill the fuck out. I’m trying to eat shawarma here. There was an amateur magician there that kept promising us some mind-blowing card trick later in the evening. He said he had to go home and practice for a little and that he would be back so we had better be ready. The suspense was becoming palpable. Our start time was both fast approaching and looming. There wasn’t any fanfare for us being there. And without another band or a sound guy to put on house music in the stage room, it felt anticlimactic when we finally started.

I wish we could say that we prevailed and turned the night around. I really do. But, it did not go down like that. We played to an empty room for almost the entire allotted, agreed-upon three hours. People would peer in and then proceed to head back outside. We stretched out songs and jammed during interludes. Ironically, we had some of the best grooves and new ideas in those moments… to a barren back room. Sparse groups would come in for a song or two and then awkwardly dance out of the backdoor exit, knowing their absence would be felt. A trio came in, full of vim and vigor. They stated we were one of the best bands to play this area and that we had made fans for life. A song later, they had vanished like a plume of exhaust. Faint glass clinks echoed in from the other room with light bar music that wasn’t turned off during our whole set. The magician came back in during a short break between sets. He proceeded to, finally at long last, abracadabra us. He asked if I was ready. You bet I was. It was a classic ‘pick a card, any card’ style trick. I really tried to bounce out the stench of the last eighty minutes and enjoy this as an experience, hoping my band was in better spirits about it for the second half. The card trick continued and I was told to find my card in a quick shuffle and to cut the deck as the big flourish. I saw the confidence leave the magician’s face. “Fuck, I think I fucked it up” he muttered. I examined his body language, expecting this to be patter before a big reveal with the card in my shoe somehow. “No, I really messed it up. I don’t know which is your card,” he said, dejected after blowing the big prestige. “Do you know any card tricks?” he asked, hopeful that magic still might be had tonight.

In a word, the show was humiliating. Our pay for 15% of bar sales was an embarrassing $45. Let me say what you’re thinking: “Maybe you guys just suck?” I mean, that’s fair. You’re probably reading this and haven’t checked out any of the links above. This may not be your cup of Yoo-Hoo and that’s cool. But, we’re a REALLY good band. And we are really tight at what we do. Music taste aside, it royally sucks to have your energy not be matched when being professional. I’d say it’s insulting but this is the risk we took. We played well and I gotta say, as an amateur soundguy for the evening, I killed it. Go Team! These shows are a part of most tours. Those that say they aren’t are just fucking lying. If you have a bankroll, a viral video or doing support for Justice Beaver, maybe you can bet on always playing to a crowded room. This show wasn’t well organized and I’m taking my portion of responsibility for that. I should have turned it down. There were too many variables that we couldn’t control and not enough signs of life to make it worth trying. Pronounce it D.O.A. These gigs will happen and it’s vital to keep it together as a band when they do. They don’t get easier. They just get fewer. The best you can do, as a unit, is minimize the risky ones like this.

As we were packing up the van, the magician came up to us, visibly more drunk than before. “Yeah, at first, I thought your band sucked. But then, I guess you turned it around.”

Day 7: Republic, MI – Summer’s End Smokeout

We were still shaking off the bumpy start of the tour and trying to pump ourselves up for the double festival bill we had coming up. Ugh festivals… let’s talk about them. For every good festival we have played, there’s been maybe three bad ones. That doesn’t sound like a great ratio but they do often pay better and in theory, there also should be an audience. We are almost always surprised which ones pan out though. Years ago, we did a double header in Tennessee on a Friday and Virginia on a Saturday. We had FULLY assumed the Friday show would be amazing and the Saturday would be some janky, backwoods, disorganized mess. The Friday show was a Acro Yoga festival. Teems of hot, in-shape people walked around with impossibly cut arms and flat bellies. Organic food tents juxtaposed the portable sawdust toilet shacks. Yes, they are exactly what you’re thinking. You shit in a hole in the ground behind a curtain and take a scoop of sawdust from a bucket and pepper it on there like sprinkles on a soft serve sundae. Slacklines and aerialists practiced while we set up. The energy was high and people were chanting for us. And then hell rained down. Thunder cracked and the sky opened and all the svelt aryans in MC Hammer pants scattered. No one left their tents for the rest of our set. The precipitation seemed to be composed of k-calories and MSG. We played to an empty, dark hill after the rain knocked out the spotlights. Leaving vanquished, we had almost no hope for the next day. When we arrived in Blacksburg, it was a mudslide, as the weather had followed us north. What proceeded after was probably the best festival experience ever. Everyone was wet and muddy, under a pavilion, two hundred deep, hanging on our every note. We made more in merch sales under an umbrella out of the back of our van than the entire two nights combined.

I remembered this story while vision-boarding a positive experience for the next 48 hours. Summer’s End Smokeout was a very, very legit festival with some really killer bands. It’s a weed festival, organized by a legal cannabis company in Michigan. We learned about the strange loophole laws that stated that while marijuana consumption was legal, it cannot coincide concurrently with alcohol sales. As we arrived at the disc golf course that would house this misfit jamboree, we saw a large fenced area where this illicit substance divorce was taking place.

Our home for the evening was the main stage. It boasted full LED light shows and graphics display, a dedicated and talented team of sound engineers and equipment to match. There were also large congregations of people showing up to their campsites, early considering it was only Thursday for the long four day weekend. We weren’t in an ideal time slot but it’s our first year here and proving your band is an important step. Tonight was the big guarantee and anchor date that kickstarted the whole reason for this tour. We would be fed, housed and treated as professionals. Now, we just needed a crowd.

The horseshoe shape of the festival proved to be a hindrance to the drift. Down the way and around the bend was the Forest Stage, specifically designed for EDM acts and DJ’s. Two stages coinciding with semi-staggered start times to encourage movement and flow. Perhaps it was first day jitters but the crowd pretty much stayed in one spot during the whole night, and it was not in front of ‘main’ stage. We had a small, but engaged crowd. It was just far away from the commerce of vendors and a seemingly more interesting light show at the Beep Boop BWAAAAA stage. That’s a dub step sound… keep up with me.

This has been a huge shift in festival culture in the last two decades, but more specifically since the pandemic. Electronic music is just more of a draw these days. Its circles have spilled over into the more traditional jam band circuits. Let’s face it… our band isn’t either genre. I don’t even particularly care for either genre actually. A lot of jam bands are derivative and boring with goofy band names and song titles. There is little diversity and the same bands get the same festivals year in and year out. I appreciate the festival formula trying to switch things up when it does happen. The whole recipe needs a facelift. The stalwarts of drippy, noodling bands stretching three chord interludes into a half hour can go pound some wet pavement. Unfortunately, dubstep and house music wasn’t really what I had in mind for this metamorphosis. But, we are instrumental and kinda weird and have been told people like to take drugs and listen to us. Look, I’m into anyone that digs our music. As long as you’re doing it responsibly and buying merch and telling us we look cute up there, I’m all for it. And again, we are very grateful to be at these festivals. It took a lot of grinding to even be considered for these bills. We’ve played on festivals with some very big names. But it’s always felt so far removed. We’ve met a lot of amazing people. Running a festival is insane, difficult, often thankless work. We appreciate you and understand they are just booking what sells.

In my younger days, I railed against DJs and the inevitable hostile takeover of the live music scene from EDM. I was probably ‘that guy’ at a party or two that questioned what DJs actually are doing while on stage. While I respected early hip hop culture and record scratching with the primitive technology of beat matching, the celebrity DJ trend bore holes in my head. We’d often share stages or get completely bumped by these acts. This would almost always be accompanied by the reassurance from the venue or booker that they were ‘blowing up right now’ and it would only help the night; Less equipment, spinning familiar material as background music, drinking culture and a guaranteed more coed audience versus weird band music night with inconsistent draws. I get it. I’ve also softened my stance. You can’t bare-knuckle box a tornado without getting impaled by a flying garden gnome, ya know? I’ll pick my battles. It is what it is.

The rest of the night was the same story. Great bands took the main stage with minimal engagement while the tree nymphs were throwing a fucking rager around the way. We watched both stages and loaded out. The organizers could not have been cooler and more efficient. We were fed, given luxurious bathrooms on site and then put up in a really nice hotel. Though we came back feeling a bit lackluster, we know this is always a possibility. We had gotten our guarantee but did poorly on merch due to our low visibility. Tomorrow, we are a late addition at a really iffy festival in a completely new market. It’s a death metal and bluegrass festival. But, at least there aren’t any DJs we have to dance-fight for the crowd’s attention.

Day 8: Rhinelander, WI – Project Mayhem Festival

If you check out a map of the upper peninsula of Michigan, surrounding cities are next to nil. We had Minneapolis booked the following day so going west was imperative. But, I kept coming up with fuck-all trying to fill this Friday date. Nearby Duluth, Minnesota was an option. But, the music scene, we were warned, was non-existence since Covid ravaged the landscape. Like Pittsburgh, they got hit hard and a lot of great indie venues closed. Going down to Madison, Wisconsin wasn’t a viable option because of geography. Two back to back six hour drives aren’t good for morale. And I’m sure glad in hindsight that I didn’t opt for that.

Every tour we have done, I have consulted a few DIY groups on social media. Sometimes, I feel conflicted about that. I never want to seem incapable or unprofessional or worse, amateur at tour booking. Facts are that bills drop and here’s a resource that can help fill dates. Ask for help. It’s difficult at times but it can be really fruitful to divide and conquer. The success rate is maybe one for five for these posts. Depending on lead time, that number is even smaller. For us, we were two weeks out from launch and still didn’t have this very important weekend show. Our agent was also unsuccessful so we were, once again, on our own. I was trying to sound out how I could spin “Hey, how about a silly concert night (booooo!!), we go swimming in Lake Michigan and then go bowling at the nearby one-horse town.” Not to slag, that day out sounds incredible for a tour. But, we are here to work and weekends are imperative. I threw up an S.O.S. on the invite-only Facebook page. Nothing for two days besides a few comments backing our band or tagging bookers in nearby areas. Then, I woke up to a notification. A tall, lanky bass player with a few mutual friends in common had commented. He says he was playing at this historic backwoods festival and that they could probably fit us on the bill. He told me later he had just joined that Facebook group that very day. KISMET. The festival was called Project Mayhem and he had posted the flyer as well. I checked the artwork. It’s a lot of bands in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin but the routing would be perfect. It’s mostly death metal and some folk punk and bluegrass bands. It makes no sense. JUST LIKE US. Jacob provided a contact for the organizer and I shot him a message double quick without sounding desperate (I was though). He got back to me within a day and said they could fit us in. He could pay and feed us. They can’t change the art or make a formal announcement because t-shirts were already made and he was just too busy. That’s fair. Let’s fucking do it.

Behind the scenes, the trek from one festival to another was not great. We were still dealing with van issues and the finances were becoming glaringly real. Morale was at its lowest point. It was a quiet drive through the Ottawa Forest. I had so much riding on this tour working out, keeping us relevant and showing people we aren’t down for the count. I don’t know why I put this much pressure on myself to outperform everything we’ve done in the past. I truly only feel alive and that I’m worthy of being called a musician when I’m touring. New York City just hasn’t yielded the community of musicians that I had hoped. It’s incredibly lonely most times. Maybe I’m just eternally searching for a place where I can call home with other road dogs. The quiet stoicism is just a mask for a pressure cooker inside me. I counted the minutes on the GPS winding down as we entered Rhinelander. I was scared, quite honestly. First impressions are so important. I wanted to roll up to a sea of people, engaged, with infrastructure and teams of people working in tandem for a successful and professional festival. Basically, what we had just come from in Michigan. But… ya know… with more of a crowd watching us. Being as we were added so late, our slot was early at 1pm. I’ve never played a show this early. And because of the sorcery of time zones, we had lost and gained an hour in the last day.

We get a bit lost in the campground and hit a gravel road. There’s spotty service but we see what looks like two stages in close proximity. The sky is gray and spritzing rain. We see cars but only a few tents. I counted maybe ten people watching the first band at high noon. My heart sank and tension gripped me. This HAS to work out. It will break our, or at least my, spirit if it’s another dud. We chatted briefly with someone whom we assumed was in charge. One of the stages, the one we were slated to play, did not have a ceiling and we were uneasy, to say the least, about putting out expensive pedalboards and drums. They assured us we would be fine. Two stages meant we had to start setting up while the other band played. The first band was a two piece called Gunderslam (with an electric cello!) playing video game metal covers. I’m well familiar with the scene and had recognized the guitarist in passing circles back on the east coast. It was surreal to see even a semi familiar face in flyover country here.

Tara set up her board but placed her jacket on it. The air was misty and a bit cold. We didn’t bother putting up the banner as it would just be one more thing to worry about. It was no match for the wind on a still day. This tour will be the death rattle or that thing. It’s served us well for over a decade. It is way past its ninth life so we gave it the day off. I also just assumed no one would be watching. I tried to calm myself down. My normal mantras weren’t working: It’s a late addition gig. It’s on the way to a better gig. We can get a hotel instead of camping. Maybe see a movie later? Salvage it somehow? Maybe build a meth lab in this forest and just start a new life altogether?

Then, something amazing happened. The clouds parted for a brief moment and the sun shone through. We started our first song and like a scene out of heavy metal Bambi, hordes of black hoodies and battle jacketed warriors started emerging from the forest. Surrounding the area, out of eyeshot were tents and campsites became more visible from the vantage point of the stage. They were just hiding, but now out wandering, like a timid fox investigating leftover campsite trash. Hungover and foraging for food, they heard our music and hoofed to the front of the stage. The space filled up and for what they lacked in numbers, they more than made up for in enthusiasm. It was a lightning bolt of energy. We actually fit in with this crowd. Danny said it perfectly later… metal fans need their music aggressive so they don’t have to be. They are, by far, the most chill and welcoming people we’ve ever encountered. The mythos of the ‘unholier than thou’ pretentious metalheads has a place in truth but we saw none of that on this day. Dual stages meant we could play a little longer. We opted for heavier material to fit the theme. We made more fans and more merch sales than all other days combined. We were more offered food, drugs, hangs and genuine positivity than we could shake a pitchfork at. Plans for a hotel escape dissipated quickly as we made a plan to utilize our tents we have been slogging around and camp for the night. But because we are city idiots (citiots?), we didn’t realize our tent had no poles. Don’t mess with Davey Goddamned Crocket over here. So, we went to WalMart, like a couple of coastal elite lib posers and bought camping gear that we are definitely just going to return to another WalMart in the next town over tomorrow.

The rest of the day was just fucking FUN. Even the people that missed our set bought merch to support us on the road. The metal bands were brutal. The bluegrass bands were tight. I got to juggle fire for this crowd and burned my hand to prove our loyalty. It was worth it. We slept on the hard earth in the tent because we don’t know what a ground pad is. We were cold and it was damp in the morning but we have no complaints. Morale spiked and I started to remember that these nights do happen. Our music won people over but this happenstance of a festival provided the opportunity. And I’m just so grateful we took the chance on it. The band Lunar Moth played later in the evening. They were also not metal and had no idea how they managed to find themselves on this bill either. The conversation of two touring bands commenced. They had just opened up for Destroy Boys in Madison, giving their analytics and popularity an adrenaline punch. Mutual respect goes a long way. It’s hard fought but easy to dole out when obviously deserved. We hope to play with them again very soon. We ducked out in the morning to head to Minneapolis. It was about a five hour drive, our longest yet. The next show was going to be all instrumental post rock bands in a city we haven’t been to for six years. Really hoping this goodwill has some fuel left in the tank. Saturday nights are crucial on tour. Fingies crossed!

Day 9: Minneapolis, MN – Palmer’s Bar

I’m snacking in the van and feeling guilty as I write this. For the past five months, I’ve been on a strict daily calorie diet deficit. 1400 calories a day and lots of walking exercise, combined with strength training. I’ve lost almost 60lbs and I’m worried I’ll gain it all back in less than three weeks. This diet is almost impossible to continue with on tour. I can’t really prepare meals and these fuggin tomato basil Wheat Thins are just orgasmic on my tongue. People keep giving us pulled pork in every city. It seems like a midwestern dowry they legally have to give to strangers. I’m reluctantly here for it though. Every area has their own flair to the recipe and I can’t really pick a favorite. On previous tours, I would eat a sleeve of Oreos without much shame or guilt. Now it’s one per night, but only after a good show. So, I’ve only had two so far. I rewarded myself with one after the Project Mayhem. Now, they’re staring at me in the face. But, I will remain strong.
Your body gets beaten up during a tour. Your sleeping hours get fucked and any plan to eat well just takes a big dive bomb into child palate territory with meals of convenience and available resources. We try to exercise in the morning by finding somewhere to walk instead of driving. We opt to get coffee or run an errand. My band is a bunch of Skinny Minnies so they have their own regiments. But, I’m yearning to get back to my boring celery stalk binges and power walking with the old ladies at the park routine.

I had inquired with a friend that lived in the area about a place to crash. His name was Graham and he had seen us perform in the subways on a trip years ago to NYC. He became an instant fan. He traveled hours to see us when we previously played Iowa and Wisconsin. I was stoked that we were finally going to be close to him. And he offered his place before. That’s a binding legal contract that no high court in the land can attest so I cashed that favor in right quick. He lives in a small single bedroom apartment fifteen minutes from the venue. We’re still trying to dig ourselves out of financial Hades here so it was better than an overpriced hotel. I found this gig through our good friends in Daikaiju. We have done several tours with them and I often copy their homework and see where they’ve played. Chances are if the venue is cool with their amazingly raucous and wild stage shows, then they could probably handle us. They also book very late in the process so it was a good guide to see what venues may not be booked up if you have to reroute. I had read about Palmer’s on our last run, looking for a place to play. With the help of a local booker in 2018, we ended up at the Kitty Cat Club, which has since sadly never reopened since the pandemic. That booker had moved to a whole other part of the country so back to the old search bar. Luckily, Palmer’s was available. It was an iconic venue that had an indoor and outdoor stage. They responded immediately and enthusiastically that the Saturday was open for outside for an early show. Outside and early could mean a bunch of things. I agreed because we weren’t in the position to bargain. They gave a list of bands we should reach out to based on our style of music. I usually do my own research but always love local recommendations when we are tight on time.
The first two I heard, I fell in love with. I messaged both The Great Went and Whispered the Rabbit. Both instrumental and highly orchestral and score-like. To my astonishment, they both got back to me quickly and said yes. Wow… it never works so seamlessly. What’s the catch here? This was also the most promoted of the shows by the venue. FINALLLLY! Venues have a farther reach than we do, obviously. So, daily stories on Instagram and promoted posts really meant a lot. We need to flank these people and be relentless.

We showed up to load-in to a gorgeous backyard, on probably the best night of weather on this tour. Clear skies, perfect temperature and next door to a university and a mosque. The first band was set up. They were so kind and offered their drum and bass equipment to make changeover quicker for all bands. We assumed there was a music curfew for outside and we didn’t want anyone losing set time to check three drum kits. Fuck that noise… literally.

What transpired that night was, honestly, as cheesy as it sounds, enchanting. Our band has just never been paired well on most bills. We get it. It’s a prison of our own making. But on this day, we found that it was possible. Not only did the bill make sonic sense, but the entire crowd stayed for everyone. We had the tour sandwich of being in the middle but it almost didn’t matter. People were scattered but engaged. So many people showed up. They were polite and listening and the roar of the applause was immediate after every song. The Great Went was a three piece that utilized effects and looping, the way we try to do, into a seamless display of timing and talent. Whispered the Rabbit was a layered and expertly crafted prepossessing, folkloric score with fantastical elements. They’re a quartet led by a 5 string violin. Her tone was rustic and haunting. Each song felt like a different bedtime story you were being told as a child. I got teary eyed. As a musician, and particular bass player, I struggle with the silence in between the notes. The ones you don’t play are just as important. I envied their perfect harmony and balance, each lobbing the melody back and forth effortlessly to a coalescing wordless narration. Danny remarked that if he had heard any of these on a playlist, he would have assumed they were some of our retired material from before his tenure in the band. I felt the same. I also felt such invigoration and inspiration. I wanted to go home and write a whole other album. I want to be in that band. I want to tour with that band. I want to create a super group with that band. I felt excited for music for the first time in a long time.

The show ended. We were fed free pizza. I chatted with the bands and some latecomers buying merch. Dave, the upside down guitarist in Whispered the Rabbit came over to our merch booth. He told me that they would be abstaining from payment (the other band said the same to me earlier too) for the night and wanted us to have all of it. I was floored. They brought more than the bulk of the audience. They wouldn’t hear my argument back and just said ‘it’s the way it’s supposed to be.’ You kind hearted DICKS. That’s my line. That’s typically how we treat bands that are touring through NYC, if we’ve helped set the show up. It’s greatly appreciated but never expected when we are on the road. Dave and I had a long bonding session about this game. The Athan evening call to prayer rang out from the Mosque next door as we spoke. The reverb was heavy and the cadence was gorgeous. Dave told me how he got my initial message after a despairing day: He had been taking a walk by the Mississippi River, in a funk, and coming to terms with the fact that their band hadn’t played a gig all summer. They had seemingly missed their opportunity to play the patio at Palmer’s and it was too late to book one as it was now June at the time. He thought what myself and so many other musicians think at times: “Let’s just focus on next season and see how that goes.’ That was when he got a DM on Instagram inquiring about their availability for August.

I found myself pouring my soul out to this stranger. He did the same. Their band had recently done a short five day run in the U.K., the first overseas tour for the project. It had mixed results and it was a lot to reconcile on the long journey home. I divulged about all the initial bullshit we combatted on this tour and previous ones. How in my darker moments alone, I didn’t think I had another one of these in me for the future. And then, how all that self doubt was snuffed out in an instant when this random synthesis of elements locked into place tonight. We had a silent moment, as if we were speaking to a clear reflection of ourselves in that same river. He said “I just don’t have words, these nights never turn out like this.” And I was reminded of that scene in Point Break where Keanu Reeves is night surfing and says to Lori Petty’s character “ I can’t describe how I’m feeling” and she replies, “you don’t have to.” Silly movie but damn, that line hits hard. We both… just understood. There’s enough war stories on both sides to lament the failures. For now, the negative space spoke encyclopedias and compendiums of experience and knowledge. It’s a powerful thing; to accept the good when it happens, feeling like you’re worthy of having earned it. Conversely, the bad nights are significant to process and to later store in an arsenal so shows like this are substantive. It’s emotional because it’s important. We hugged and made a promise to do any amount of shows or a short tour together sooner than later. They had familial limitations and we had half of a continent separating us. Despite that, it’s the community I want. Sure, it’s only one show and naysayers will reduce it to just that. But, it meant a lot and right when it needed to for us.

Check out The Great Went and Whispered the Rabbit.

Day 10: Day Off – Oshkosh, WI

We went back to our humble lodgings for the night. Graham’s he-devil of a cat did not destroy any of our air mattresses while we slumbered. We woke up, took a walk, and did some individual life admin chores. Danny taught some Zoom drum lessons while Tara and I threw a load of laundry in the quarter operated machines in the basement. We wash our clothes once per fortnight on average while on the road. Don’t judge. Some bands don’t do it at all. We had about a five hour drive to Oshkosh, WI. We’d be crashing with Jacob, our camping neighbor from the Rhinelander Festival. It was kind of on the way to Chicago and a familiar face, albeit a brand new one, would be a welcome sight in a sea of generic hotel rooms of varying quality. Another Sunday to take a leisurely drive and perhaps crash a bit early. Jacob is a gifted multi instrumentalist musician and all-around self admitted nerd, with his main instruments being bass and cello. He fits right in with our aesthetic. His house, while looking unassuming at the end of a cul de sac, was a labyrinth inside with nerdy accoutrements, a guest cat (much friendlier than our last feline roommate, a recording studio, rehearsal space and a house venue stage in the basement. The style and decor had not been touched since at least the late 80’s. Our spare bedrooms were reminiscent of my grandparent’s bedrooms. It was strangely comforting.

We went out to eat at a taproom and talked shop. He told us that while he stayed for the entirety of Project Mayhem, he had used his other band’s set as an opportunity to propose to his longtime girlfriend on stage. Bummed we missed that but can imagine all those rough and tumble metalheads cheering them on in unison. We got back and used his equipment to work on these two video game songs for next Saturday’s festival. The first was Terra’s Theme from Final Fantasy 6 (Final Fantasy 3 in Japan). We mainly chose it because our cellist’s name is Tara. Plus, it’s really well orchestrated and people will know it. The aura of the piece can be condensed to three instruments without losing its weight. The more difficult selection was one of the Tetris themes from the original GameBoy (Type C music). It was a minuet by Bach (814 French Suite #3 in Bminor). I assumed maybe four people over the age of 40 would appreciate the daring choice we were making. It’s a short waltz and full of counter melodies. It isn’t easy. I used an acoustic guitar and tuned it like my bass to practice with Tara while she used Jacob’s acoustic cello. I do not read notation. Tara found some sheet music and with some noodling, she was good to go. Me, on the other hand, not so much. I have to learn and memorize by repetition. I make different shapes to differentiate the more similar sections. My impostor syndrome spikes because I can’t read music, don’t have anything remotely resembling perfect pitch and only possess this Cliff Notes understanding of basic music theory. Jacob was able to listen and pick it up almost instantly. Get out of here with your musical wunderkind, newly fiance’d having ASS!

We came up with a primitive arrangement. Our set would be short and time was ticking, so we didn’t give them too much razzle-dazzle. I convinced my band it would be a good idea to watch one of my favorite bad movies called “Fateful Findings” instead of going to bed at a decent time. That movie is batshit insanity, completely lacking all self awareness. They left confused. Mission accomplished. These moments on tour are just as important as soundcheck to me. It’s all part of the package and I’m glad we had a night to recharge. This is our last day off so we’ll need all the recuperation we can get.

Day 10: Chicago, IL – Liar’s Club

Of all the cities you’re ‘supposed’ to hit while touring the States, Chicago is always listed. My gripe with that is it’s just too similar to NYC in a lot of ways. Maybe a little cleaner? Minus Dave Matthews Band taking a dump in the river. Look it up. Getting people excited for a mid week show is like pulling teeth. Even with a curated four band bill, promotion was a slow-go for this one. Joining us for the next four days would be the Pittsburgh based brass project, Big Blitz. Made up of two saxy brothers and their equally young drummer (21 and 23 years old). Their prodigious chops and wise-beyond-their-young-years sheen has followed them in the times we met prior to this. They had been doing the festival and support slot grind for years, with the help of their dad, Matt. He was the primary booker while their mom was in charge of hotels and reservations. It was a family run enterprise, but at no point did I feel like anyone was resting on laurels. These guys hustled HARD. We had met them at a few festivals. Some good, and some downright lame. We both looked at each other at the latter like “what the hell are YOU doing here?” We quickly hatched a scheme to link up. Two instrumental trios that are very DIY in their approach. Big Blitz made their bread and butter performing at residencies. Some are not so glamorous. I respected the hell out of their work ethic though and envied their sprawling enterprise of help behind the scenes. Residencies are such a blessing. They can be taxing but it’s work, in a time when most artists are begging for table scraps. Their band had played all over but this was one of their first ‘tours’. They had a monster amount of gear that they loaded up to each gig. Multiple saxophones, full drumkit, in-ear-monitoring system and a synth module that looked like a patchboard for Bell Atlantic. Probably more than they needed. But, at no point did they seem overwhelmed or out of their element. They were self sufficient and the brothers always had this infectious, aw-shucks smile that I couldn’t help but engage with. I had hoped they didn’t expect too much for a Monday in Chicago. We had some lackluster shows here in the past but I still wanted them to have a good launch, not to mention a continuing trend for our own shows.

The venue, I was told, was pretty hands off but full of very decent, old school industry guys. They were usually closed on Mondays and Tuesdays but opted to open up for our show. When we arrived at the venue, it looked completely abandoned. There was a small part of me worried something got lost in translation and we’d have to play for free next to the Buckingham Fountain. Maybe Lollapalooza could fit us in somewhere?? My anxiety was quelled when Bobby, our in-town contact and show runner, told me that all would be fine. We found an open door that led inside to a really decent venue, nice stage and very competent backline drumkit and sound system. We parked right out front and chatted with the owner. His Chicago accent was gruff but subtle. Years of hard drinking and smoking made him sound like a featured extra in a gritty cop drama. His name was Gary and we liked him right away. He supported live bands and had stories spanning back decades keeping this place open and independent. The venue location was near Lincoln Park, a bit off the beaten path. Not much foot traffic but the weather was nice and all the bands were getting along swimmingly. Danny and Tara were offered a shot of Malort, a Chicago liquor staple with a very divisive audience score. People have likened the taste anywhere from burnt tires and bug spray to stomach bile with a twist of grapefruit. Danny took one shot and said it affected his playing all night. Your mileage may vary though.

The turnout was so-so. The style of bands was all over the place but everyone that was present seemed to enjoy each band and what they brought to the mix. The money wasn’t great that night but we had made another solid connection. They asked us to come back on a weekend and threw out some dates at us. The place gets packed on weekends and with enough lead time, they could pair us with a solid drawing local. Sometimes, that feels like a sad consolation prize. But, I assure you, these contacts and favors do pay off. Not always when we want them or need them to. Reputations ripple and word of mouth still very much exists. It’s more spaghetti to throw at the wall. The staff loved our music and guys that have been in the game that long have good memories for these things. Mutual respect, showmanship and professionalism still make more of a dent than flash in the pan social media numbers. At least in some circles at least.

We crashed with my friend Becky. She’s a petite but fierce artist that I’ve known for almost two decades. We hit it off working at the same hellscape of a job my first year in NYC. She had since moved to Chicago to pursue more of her art. Her ginormous Great Dane, Sadie, kept us company all night, stomping around like a clydesdale and resting her comically large head on our torsos while we slept.

We have six shows in the next five days with some dumb drives. Coming up on the last leg of tour leaves me with feelings that are equally dumb. We want to end strong but know there are some big things to traverse before we get to the finish line. The Cleveland show is looking really questionable right now and our double header on the second to last night of tour is going to be a run and gun operation to make both on time. Even if we hit every single one of these final shows out of the park, I still don’t think we’d break even. This doesn’t seem sustainable. But, it’s sure been enjoyable the last few days. And I can competently say that we’ve earned that.