On the Road 2024 With Peat Rains from You Bred Raptors?: Part 3

Day 12: Lafayette, IN – The North End Pub

Our first long distance tour was in 2015. It was ten dates out to Chicago and back. I had no idea what I was doing. I called in all the favors of friends I had met through our busking and my prior band’s video game music convention performances. Fellow musicians across the country were acting as telethon operators as I called or emailed about their local music scene. Somehow, that entire initial tour work out. I don’t know how, looking back, but every show was as successful as I could have hoped. The metrics I use to gauge that success rate has wildly evolved as well too. So, that’s saying a lot. I had assumed the formula of having 3-4 month lead time, cashing in friendship points and then letting MUSICAL MAGIC happen, then every tour would would be in the money. This is where I laugh at my former self before transitioning into a full on sob. Like, it starts with lip quivering, trying-not-to-cry kind of a cry and then evolves into full on hysterics.

One of these shows that fell into place was in Lafayette, Indiana. We had landed a Chicago show and one of the showrunners there said we should check out the Doom Room in Lafayette for the next stop. I looked at the map. It was a small blip in the middle of corn husking country to the south. A very republican state with a liberal pocket thanks to Purdue University spiked in there. Nick, head of the Doom Room told me they had never booked a non metal show but he’d give it a go. We landed at a really nice venue called Carnahan Hall, an event space that held weddings and Sweet 16 parties. To boot, the main opening band had dropped off the bill a day before showtime due to two of their members entering rehab for methamphetamine addiction issues. We assumed this was to be the downfall of an otherwise successful tour to that point. To our surprise, it was a banger. So many people came out! The cost to get in the all ages show was $4, or $2 for students. It was fucking packed and we got to headline? We usually feel uncomfortable headlining in a new market. But, Nick, in his wisdom and experience told me to trust him. And I have ever since.

We have hit here as many tours as possible. They haven’t all been amazing. There have been some duds there in years past. It’s never for of lack of trying though. It’s been consistent enough and everyone there is amazing and supportive. We made the mistake of playing on a Monday night right ‘after’ the pandemic. Apparently, this town is big into Monday Night Wrestling, as one of the leading female wrestlers hails from tiny Lafayette. So, the few people that did come out to the show spent the whole show watching WWE on the pub’s many TVs. That’s always a shitty feeling. And look, I get it. We are encroaching on their territory. But it’s hard to convey the sinking feeling or driving 5+ hours, setting up a ton of gear to and merch to display just to play for a few bored looking regulars that may throw glaring glances during commercial breaks.

Back to the present, this show’s success nested somewhere in the middle. It was originally scheduled at a different venue, as we wanted to switch things up, but after some hassle about payment, we landed back at the pub. It’s a fun establishment with an impressive line of pinball machines, a few arcade machines and attached to a full bowling alley. The food is standard bar fare but welcome sustenance after traveling hours through wind farms and flat geography. The community here is why we constantly return. Black metal, deathcore, grind, powerviolence or funeral doom may not be your cup of tea, but those fans are dedicated. As we rediscovered from our Rhinelander show, we were once again reminded while in Lafayette. We still have some of the same fans that saw our first show in 2015. I’ve seen them grow up, have kids and get married. I went to Nick’s wedding last year; The first time I think I’ve visited him without an instrument slung on my back. To see these fans again, even by small numbers still means something. It’s still noteworthy. They may go to bed a little earlier and order fewer drinks than in year’s past, but they are still watching the band and catching up with me at the merch booth afterwards.

Big Blitz was in tow with us again, and would be for the next few days. They are extremely talented and dedicated. While new at touring, they’re no strangers to being self-sufficient. They bring a ton of shit to their gigs. Maybe too much? But they also run their own sound at a lot of these gigs. This way they can avoid paying extra house and production fees. We did have a competent sound guy at the pub, luckily. I saw how excited Big Blitz were to play at this bowling alley pub. I wanted it to be more glamorous for them. Then I remembered this is all new to them. They aren’t cynical like we are. The grime and the grind is still romantic to them. I hope it’s easier for them than it was for us. I believe it will be.

The show was largely uneventful but we both sounded tight. Us, after a week of shows and Blitz, just from the way they were trained. They also had an in-ear-monitoring system that made me jealous. Merch sales were much better than they were in Chicago and I had to struggle to remember everyone’s name, admittedly after years of familiar faces recognized me. We challenged Big Blitz to a bowling match after we packed up. It’s one of the perks of playing there. The lanes were all but empty and walls glowed from fluorescents and decades of cigarette smoke. Nu Metal played from the 2000’s played on large, partially burned out screens in front of us. Tara’s mom and Big Blitz’s dad sat in the peanut gallery taking turns heckling us. None of us are athletes. Bowling is admittedly the most lenient in the physique requirements of its biggest stars, second only to maybe darts or cornhole. It was three on three, using cumulative points from each lane. We’re almost twice the age of these hornblowers but we did efficiently also more than double their score. Take that, Zoomers! Or Gen Alpha or Beta Carotene or whatever the fuck you’re called. Good luck owning a home someday!

The door money wasn’t amazing that night but we knew where it came from and where it was padded to make it comfortable for both bands. That’s not unnoticed and it won’t go unacknowledged. Huge thanks to the Doom Room and North End Pub for taking care of family and providing a home away from home base for the night. Tomorrow is Cincinnati and it’s the one show Big Blitz set up for the run. Let’s hope their booking prowess eclipses their tenpins skills.

Day 13: Cincinnati, OH – Stanley’s Pub

We had an Airbnb in Lafayette and will be doing the same for Cincy. Normally, we wouldn’t splurge but Tara’s mom was in town so we found some humble but cute lodgings within our budget. We have friends in bands that tour out to Colorado and get an Airbnb for a couple weeks and then hit all the spots in the state. It’s less expensive than daily hotels and more comfortable than crashing on couches, I assume. Airbnbs and hotels are unfortunately pretty comparable these days. When it first started, getting a homestead meant more space, more flexibility and more control on where you could go. Now, it’s a haven for rich landowners to exploit travelers and annoy neighbors. Hidden cleaning fees, surveillance cameras and shady owners makes staying at a Red Roof Inn look appealing in juxtaposition. At least at a hotel, you know what you’re getting: thin towels, shitty continental breakfast, piss-warm pool and the weird husband chair in every hotel room. It’s somehow comforting knowing how predictable it will be, Gideon bible and all. But, diatribe aside, we opted to chance it. We have no complaints other than having to do all of their weekly chores for zero allowance money and running a dishwasher for one whole glass. Fuck the whales, right?

After a lengthy and disappointing cajun meal (this far from the Bayou), we were running late to the venue. But, as we arrived, we felt the vibe was very chill and lax. We’d be doing a double bill with Big Blitz, each with about two hours to fill. It was also one of those nights where we were running our own sound. Luckily for everyone, patrons included, Lucas from Big Blitz was in charge of this. He’s extremely adept at all things sound. He seemed almost excited for the task. We are used to older, maybe a tad more bitter sound techs at some of the places we play. Not always, but enough that when it’s so drastically different, it makes a dent in our memory. Not having a sound guy tonight meant we also didn’t have to pay the obligatory $150 fee. We would be playing for bar sales and we decided to split it evenly. Along with a bucket nailed to the wall for tips, we were hoping and needing a good night to start to get our heads back above water.

We were up first. It’s fair to take turns when doing a tour package. Blitz had played this place before so it made sense for them to ‘headline’. The crowd was spilling in slowly and paying the cover, without any protest. The owner came over to help me set up merch. She seemed genuinely excited we were there and I’m not here to cause any egress issue with our picnic table of knick knacks for sale. I’m always nervous that shows will bomb. I saw a growing number of people out on the patio before we started. It’s a really nice backyard, with the weather to match and I just hoped they would follow the music inside.

The show went well. There was some dancing and some light merch sales. As expected, most people stayed outside for both bands but still showed some love during the sets. It wasn’t a blowout set like I wanted but a solid mid-week show at a city we’ve only been to a handful of times. We’ve played at house shows, dive bars and a community music center in this city. We don’t exactly have a big market value here. I met one guy that specifically came out to the gig because he read the first part of this tour diary. He had never heard the band but came out to check it out. I love that these people exist. The ones that still go to check out live music and stay for every band. God bless you all. And on a personal level, to have someone know me just from my literary writing makes me feel a certain way.

This happened while I was on vacation in Colorado recently. I went to a backyard show on the fourth of July. I jammed with one of the bands on stage. I didn’t have my eight string bass with me but made do with a MEASLY four string going guerilla into an amp. Someone approached me after I handed off the loaner bass to another eager player. He said “This is going to sound strange but you’re not from Denver, are you?” I replied I wasn’t, now worried I looked like a poseur with a camera around my neck, suffering from elevation sickness. He then asked “Are you in a band called We Bred Raptors??” Eh, close enough. I had assumed he maybe recognized me from my touring Colorado two years prior but before I could ask he said “I read about you in No Treble. I really like your tour blogs.” Look, this is something I’m working on in therapy: Accepting compliments. I have a strong urge to make a self-deprecating (bordering on hateful) joke at my expense here to escape the feelings of adulation. I will not though. I was taken aback then and I’m taken aback tonight in Cincy when someone echoed that. These diary entries mean something to someone else. That leaves me speechless. It’s probably too long for most people but it’s cathartic to write and all I can say is thank you for giving it a chance and letting it resonate.

We packed up after doing our idiot checks. I met some really interesting musicians from the area. They dug what we did and told us to come back on a weekend sometime for a better turnout. I didn’t settle up with Big Blitz. I figured we would do it the next night in Cleveland. This next show is looking dodgy as fuck so I’m mentally preparing for that. It was a nightmare to book and we haven’t heard anything from the opening or closing band and only very sparsely from the booker. Awesome!

Day 14: Cleveland, OH – Dunlap’s Corner Bar

After loading the car, we split up the cars to head back to our Airbnb in Cincy. The show got out kind of late and Tara wanted to drive her mom back. Danny and I would follow in the band van. At some point, we got split up. We both had the address but the GPS gods decided to take us on different routes. About 15 minutes into the 20 minute drive we saw some commotion ahead. What looked initially like a DUI checkpoint quickly turned into something else. We were riding along a river along to our left and needed to make a right turn into our neighborhood for the night. Cars were rubbernecking and many police officers were standing by idly. There was a tension in their faces that was noticeable. It was obvious whatever happened, had happened quite recently. As we approached, we saw a shape splayed on the dark pavement. Our eyes adjusted to the flashing sirens and the spotlights being erected. The contour was face down and bent in impossible ways. It was shocking, both hard to look at it and turn away from. The overpass above painted the bleak picture of what had just transpired. “Oh fuck, is that a dead body?” Danny asked, but with the answer already apparent. Danny is an extremely positive and lighthearted person. He’s also very political minded and doesn’t shy away from tough subjects. He’s been extremely vocal about the atrocities happening in the middle east the past year. Suffice to say, we aren’t squeamish. My gallows humor has always rode shotgun to my depression. But, this shook both of us. To boot, there was no other way to get into this neighborhood we needed to get to. We drove a mile ahead and the GPS kept trying to turn us around to take the same forbidden exit. We had to turn around and backtrack even further. This meant returning and getting another glimpse of the alleged suicide, homicide or accident. We called Tara hoping to warn her to avoid this area. She had luckily been rerouted and was none the wiser. The rest of the ride back was a little more quiet. But, my feelings of despair over a show not being well attended became pale in comparison to whatever aftermath we had just witnessed.

We had a short drive the next day and were also staying east of the venue. This was not great if we wanted to kill some time before the venue load-in. Speaking of that, we still had zero idea of the sound situation, band order, start time or if there was any word from the other bands. For some reason, we also got put in charge of making the artwork for this show. Fine… WHATEVER. I like making flyers but we had to go back and make multiple changes, including from one of the other bands that was also touring. This band didn’t have any social media and had not posted about the show in any capacity. Since they had not made themselves known to numerous inquiries, we kind of had to take charge. We appreciate being let on the bill sort of last minute, especially as a tour package. But, it helps to communicate these things. We put the local band last, as they also confirmed they were getting off work later and were providing backline for the night. We would go third and Big Blitz would go right before us with the other touring band going first, whenever they decided to show up.

Tara and I decided to get our nails done with her former bandmate and bestie, Drea when we arrived in Cleveland. We were also looking for a place to practice with Drea as she would be joining us on violin for two songs. We’ve only ever done this once before with a viola player. It was before Tara’s time in the band and it didn’t turn out all that great. So, I was very trusting of Tara’s arrangement but was addmitedly in the dark about how it would sound. The opening band showed up around 830pm for a 9pm start time. We pushed the show back almost a whole hour to accommodate. People were milling in slowly. This area of the city was definitely in more of a shoddy part of town, but not without its charm. The venue was next to a traphouse that was a constant source of visual entertainment. The window was taken out, not just broken, but the entire frame was removed and replaced with a large speaker and hanging clothes. Maybe for insulation? Who fucking knows. Hip hop remixes blared for the first couple hours we were there. Several people came in and out, all in short spurts. The parking lot next to us filled up in absence of any street lights. A lot of these people were Tara’s friends from college. The ones who could find childcare for the evening were very supportive. I always enjoy seeing Tara in her element. She’s such a kind soul and I couldn’t ask for a better band partner in all this craziness. She’s lived in so many places and carries around circles of friends in almost every pocket of the U.S.. It’s nice to see her let loose and cut the occasional rug.

The opening band was weird and fun. They were a trio noise project, standing in a triangle on stage, each in front of some kind of interface to make looping and dubbing sounds. They were partly from Chicago and New Orleans and didn’t really have a band name. They were oddball characters but were really supportive of all the music that night. The internship program continued with Lucas, from Big Blitz, running sound for everyone on the bill. I could see Danny and Nick getting along really well. Two drummers sharing war stories, stick preferences, teaching strategies and questions about the click tracks they used. I suppose I’ll have to wait to tour with a band that actually has a bass player until I can make a friend like that. Big Blitz killed it as usual and I was starting to bum out realizing it was our last night with them. We took the ‘stage’ which was actually Tara and I on the floor with Danny on a slightly raised stage behind us. Drea set up in the middle. I could tell she was a tad nervous but I was assured she was solid, despite the lack of rehearsal. I had to encourage the small crowd to walk up to us. I get that everyone likes having their personal space. But, every show I have to all but beg people to come closer to us. It’s awkward at first but you’ll be glad you did it if you are in a similar scenario. Sometimes, they need a push.

It came time to enter a new challenger. Drea came up and we double checked our earlier quick line test. She would be playing on our songs “Shipshape”, an original pirate-like song and “Waltz”, our arrangement of the Second Jazz Suite from Shostakovich. I gotta say, y’all. It was the highlight of the set. The arrangement was sick and I’m so glad I hadn’t heard it before it was live. It was just goddamned beautiful. It was mostly the other parts Tara had written for our album. I had forgotten how good they sounded live. And the timbre of another instrument was just icing on the cake. To hear another musician just kill it with these songs that Tara and I wrote together, just elevating them so much, made me miss playing with a quartet. I had always wanted to add another instrument to this band. Ideally, an accordion player, since it’s really two instruments in one. But, the thought of dealing with someone else’s schedule, life and personal bullshit always quickly snuffed out that candle of hope. It’s insanely hard just keeping three people on the same page. Though, the sound I heard that night might make me change my mind. I want it to always sound like that.

The last band was extremely loud, even by punk standards. It was deafening but we appreciated them being on the bill and backlining gear so we stayed and watched, with ear plugs jammed into our skulls. We did terribly on merch and made about $35 from the door, after splitting among four bands. I hung with Big Blitz outside as we were all loading gear. I sat on the drum hardware coffin box in our van, trying to find a spot in the calendar to link back up next season. It was a bit emotional saying our goodbyes to them. We aren’t good at taking photos, or posting shit to social media. I’m glad we were pressured into a photo with them though. In our old ages, our memories are fading. They had a residency the next day back in Pittsburgh and our final stretch was going to be at a blistering pace. We rolled back to Drea’s place for the night. We’d all be sharing the spacious basement before having to leave early the next day. The day caught up with us quickly. I don’t remember falling asleep but it happened like hypnosis for us all.

Day 15: Sherman, NY & Harrisburg, PA – Firelights Festival

Today is breakneck speed. But, I’m feeling quite sluggish as I kick off the bed sheet acting as my blanket. Tour life has a way of finding a dormant energy in me. People remark to me that I look happier, move more spryly and seem like I’m finally, truly, in my element. I ponder what’s left in the tank as Drea hands me a mini waffle on a child’s plate on the kitchen island in her suburban home. She’s hustling like a mom on the go in a Maytag commercial. Her 4 year old, also named Pete, follows as she is shuffling to get ready with her violin case strapped to her back. We tell her we’ll clean up as she heads off to work. I fetch her a t-shirt, our calling card for anyone letting us crash, as a pittance payment for how helpful lodgings really are on the road. I’m still in awe of how good our music sounded last night with an added extra string section. I’m glad she’s making a living at it, even if children’s lessons are a far cry from touring. One that’s probably way more secure and less stressful. She’s so good and I wish we had met at different points in our life so she could join and write with us, but I’m happy for this glimmering iteration as well.

We have to leave by noon and we are really pushing that this morning. We have a monster day ahead of us. Two hours to Sherman, NY for a 4pm time slot at the Firelights Festival and then a five hour drive southeast to Harrisburg PA for an 11pm late night set at JBs. I don’t usually double up on sets but, honestly, I’m all for them. My hesitancy is always for my band. I want to be cognizant of how they’re feeling, especially after multiple shows without any days off. We have an early-ish slot in Baltimore for tomorrow, so we have to travel that way anyway. We might as well play a show where we know we will make money and there will be an audience. Our slot at Firelights is scheduled for 90 minutes but we will probably only do 75. I think an hour and a half is pushing it unless you have a dedicated, large audience. I have only a handful of bands I would watch for two hours. Jam bands that do three plus hours can go choke on a didgeridoo. Get off that nonsense and get a real job, hippie. I was a bit worried about our 4pm start time but we were added very late and, again, I didn’t have much bargaining power. Festivals have many other things to do and if your position on the schedule is early, good luck getting people into it. Make it short and mark a good impression. Leaving them wanting more makes more of an impression than wearing out your welcome.

We show up to a nature preserve dedicated to protecting herons. It’s a bit disorganized at the gate. They can’t find us on the roster and won’t tell us where to go. We’re the new kids and they are looking at an older flyer. It’s whatever. We kind of strong-arm our way in after assuring them we aren’t a random band crashing the event. No one knows where to go or park so I hop out and scope out some answers. I find the stage and tell Tara to drive through some coned off area to unload our gear. Despite this stumble, the entire operation seems very legit and the site is beautiful. It’s a windy day and people are slowly filing in at the front entrance behind us. I see a lot of fun stuff that I would normally check out. But today, it’s all business. I see jugglers passing clubs while I’m setting up merch on our own table we brought. I teach juggling here in NYC sporadically as one of my pretending-to-be-an-adult jobs. I want to go playyyyyyy and make friends but I’ve got dumb work to do. I don’t know if there’s a dedicated merch area. There seems to be some confusion about that. I don’t really have time to sort it out. I set it up by the stage on our flimsy Wal Mart table that I definitely thought of skip-scanning during a past tour purchase. I need people to see it while we are playing. We don’t have an on-site merch person so sometimes I come back to money stuffed in the box and other times a line of people wanting specific shirt sizes or to chat with us about our set. But most times, it’s empty and I’ve merely taken our overly organized merchandise on a futile field trip, giving them some air before packing them back up until another spin the next day.

I was trying to find some sort of sustenance for the band. The adorably small waffles we had a few hours ago can only generate so much glucose. The outside green room was next to a kitchen area. I poked my head and the staff started talking to me. They looked to be a paid staff but probably soon-to-be overwhelmed with the influx of people arriving. “Are you in a band?” they asked, obvious from my foraging look and disheveled appearance. I told them I was and that we were told we would get fed at some point. Normally, I’m not so brazen about our grazin’ but ya know, today, time is of the essence. One of the guys, maybe the reluctant boss, immediately went to the fridge and got out some leftovers from last night’s staff dinner. He heated it up and asked about the band. I explained our spiel as I made three sandwiches of pulled pork (again), chicken, mac and cheese, homemade bbq sauce and some fruit for Tara and Danny. Everyone’s ears perk up when I mention cello. Damn, I picked the wrong instrument. When I mention bass, it usually gets a yawn. I cleaned up after myself and thanked them. I made a good joke as I left and then I realized I forgot to ask for napkins. Well, I can’t go back now and mess up that perfect exit so I told Tara we’d just have to deal with it.

We did a soundcheck and started playing. I had set up my usual two go-pros and Tara set up her phone. I had high hopes the back camera angle, one that got the whole band and crowd, would actually show some people flanking the stage. I have no idea what to do with all these shows that I’ve captured. I have grand plans of turning it into a montage but honestly, if there isn’t a big crowd with lots of interaction and energy, static shots just look shitty. Roving, close up shots are what we need most for content and I very well can’t really do that while we are playing. Our set went okay. It was a real small crowd again but the stage sound was great. The sun was beaming on my pedalboard so I relied on muscle memory to remember which pedal was on without the aid of LEDs. I kept an eye on the time. The long drive ahead wouldn’t account for any mistakes or more than one gas-up and bathroom break. We broke down our gear quickly and loaded the van back up. I met two festival goers that happened upon our set. They were holding a seven foot square tapestry of Jeff Goldblum’s iconic, semi-shirtless pose from Jurassic Park. It was a welcome sight that brought a wry smile to my face. We chatted at the now wind-obliterated merch table, with shirts strewn about and vinyls displaced. They told me they had been taking this tapestry to every festival for the last decade and had no idea we would be here. I could tell he was angling with his inquiry. He asked how much we tour and how many states we visit. I gave him my best Carmen Sandiego rundown. He then told me he wanted us to have the tapestry. That’s crazy because our banner just died and we would need something to add a visual component to our future sets. We traded the new banner for a T-shirt and some swag, just like the pilgrims intended.

Merch sales were light but people seemed to really enjoy it. I didn’t get to juggle at all. I headed back to the van, doing one final sweep for leftover gear or a bottled water for the road. Before shoving off, the band Future Joy found us. They are a fellow band on our booking agency roster. We’ve never met them but shared festivals in the past. They’re an electronic duo/couple that live out of an RV and tour for six months out of the year. Migrating like exotic birds for the seasons, they come up from Florida and hit the festival circuit hard. We talked about sharing an agent and their shows thus far. We became instant friends and I felt bummed we had to leave so soon. But, like our set, had to love them and leave them today.

JB Lovedrafts – Harrisburg, PA

We had trouble getting GPS to talk to us on our way out of the front gate. We guessed which way to go. When it finally kicked back in, we found ourselves on a LOOOOONG dirt road. We kept passing Amish buggies. The GPS assured us we were heading toward a real road but the surface below us was getting rockier and less stable. If we popped a tire, we’d be fucked. The woods grew heavy and what was probably only a 10 minute stretch of road seemed like an hour. Finally arriving at pavement was hopeful but I had to make up some time. Tara informed me that we were only hitting exactly one highway on this five hour trek, and it was only for less than ten miles right in the middle on I-80. The ENTIRE trip would be all back roads. All of them windy, overshadowed by large trees, through tiny towns with sheriff departments and promises of the railroad being built there any day now. I felt obliged to do the bulk of the driving. This is a thing I do. I felt solely responsible for the day’s events so I didn’t want to place any more responsibility on my band to make this all come together.

I set up the GoPro on timelapse and watched the sun slowly set from all directions as we zigzagged down through Pennsylvania. Trump flags, gun rights and right wing rhetoric banners adorned our voyage through this very odd state that I used to call home. We passed a county fair and more live bait shops than I could count. I wondered how one of our shows would go over at a local carnival in this area. It grew dark and I finally passed off driving to Danny for the last hour or so. We made the trek in about four and a half hours. The booker at JBs was kind enough to swap parking spots with us so we could load in quickly as we arrived. Going from locust sounds and horse drawn vehicles to the absolute madhouse shitshow of downtown Harrisburg was jarring. It was a raucous Friday night on the main strip. People were already wasted and cops adorned most of the corners to keep things peaceful. We had missed the first band and the second band had just started. I can’t believe we fucking made it. The place was packed and the staff there, all familiar and on a first name basis with us, was equally delighted to see us. I had been in contact with the bands throughout the weeks and day of to let them know our whereabouts. We didn’t want to seem unappreciative or worse yet, ‘that band’ for showing up late and then borrowing gear. Danny and Tara quickly ordered us food. We had to be strategic with our time table here. I had factored in that if we started before midnight, that means we would have played three states in twenty four hours with a seven hour drive in between. It’s not quite Def Leopard playing three continents in one day but we’re not British and our drummer has two arms so whatever, that analogy only partially works.

I was just so glad we had a crowd out there. They were energetic, danced and the second band stayed and vibed through our whole set. Other bands watching your set sometimes feel obligatory but getting really into it and making movement out of it is above and beyond. It was the 75 minute set I had been really looking forward to playing all day. We got paid before the set and did okay on merch, minus one shirt getting stolen during our set. It’s not totally unheard of to have something get swiped but surprising at this place. I guess I’m flattered they liked the design enough to take it. Blush.

The gloomies were setting in as the end of the tour loomed. We packed up as the clouds converged and our friend precipitation made another appearance. Our plan to attend an afterparty with a backyard bonfire went up in smoke. No matter, we were dead tired as our hosts showed Danny and Tara their quarters for the night. We were staying with my high school friend Rae and her husband, Andy. Rae, short for Rhiannon and named after the Fleetwood Mac song, and I have a long history. Both misfits and without any core clique growing up, we formed an instant bond. She didn’t care that I was a weirdo and treated me as an equal during a pretty uncertain time in adolescence. We were the only ninth graders dating seniors in our class. Looking back, that is a little problematic but it led us to cement and start this 25+ year friendship. We stayed up for another hour catching up while her husband cursed the wet wood outside in futile attempts to still have a fire. The caveman inside him grew impatient and we settled on a back patio rendezvous instead. He beat his chest and stomped around, shaking his fist at the sky. Rae looks the same, her cheek bones accent her soft skin, and those doe eyes are still just as piercing. She’s brash and is still as foul mouthed as ever. She’s a reliable landmark in my life, even after a few decades and a couple of kids. We grew up and grew old together, intersecting at various points of the timeline with a few chapters left to get through. I crashed in one of her son’s rooms, who recently moved out to college. Fuck, that makes me feel old.

Day 17: Baltimore, MD – Ottobar “Big Gen Gamer Fest”

Our grand plans for a homemade breakfast dissipated when we woke up to the news that Rae had to take one of their new kittens to the vet. The kitty has been emulating the ‘careful walk of the convalescent’ and might not make daybreak. They had four new kittens and they seemed a little overwhelmed with the new zoo they had accidentally adopted. We packed up for the short drive to Baltimore. 90 minutes? That’s it? I could do that driving with my kneeeeeees. We stopped at Neato Burrito on the way out of town. It was a very memorable spot for the band but to me personally as well. It was across the street from one of the first shows I ever played with my high school band. It was a venue called the Why’re (pronounced Wire). Looking back, it was probably disorganized and poorly run but hell, it’s got such a place in my heart. I had seen so many good shows there and then finally getting to play there at a decent all ages venue was a milestone. I remember getting paid $50 and being so stoked. Don’t even bring up the rising inflation and how that’s more than we made from Milwaukee on this run. Trust, I KNOW. I remember this location and while all the buildings seem a bit smaller to my adult eyes and new stop lights adorn the intersection, caddy corner to refurbished buildings and city planted trees, the nostalgia is as strong as ever. I brought too much equipment to this tiny venue and played much louder than necessary to a room full of other teenagers. I found myself here and cut my teeth on live performance in this building. Plus, the burritos are really fucking good. Fuck the diet. We deserve it after the last day.

We had a 5pm slot at Bit Gen Gamer Fest. This was a longstanding single day video game festival, held at the iconic Ottobar for almost the last decade. 13 bands playing video game adjacent music, free console and arcade play and other nerdy culture activities. This was originally started in 2007 and the behemoth Magfest had bought the name after it gained a lot of traction. It’s still being run by the same people. My previous band, This Place is Haunted, played the first iteration, then called 8 Bit Genocide, 17 years ago and had been back intermittently with YBR? ever since. We aren’t a video game band obviously, but a lot of these other bands aren’t really either. They just encapsulate some form of the culture. Unicorn Hole was very much death metal with chiptunes and keytars while Quick Save was straight up brass styled ska. This year was strategic to not feature straight VGM cover bands. So, we fit in nicely. I would have preferred a later time slot but with the van rental bullshit and us needing to return it bright and early, the timing worked out.

I had made a last minute video to accompany our set. I felt left out that every other band had triggers and video to add an extra visual element. I made a ridiculous collage and montage of old dinosaur movies, memes and bad movie clips fading in and out of our various logos. I made it on my mobile editing app on the way to the venue. I was uploading it to the Google Drive link as we unloaded into the venue. Don’t ever call us unprofessional.

I walked in and saw so many familiar faces. Some of these friends I had been playing shows alongside, and some on stage with, for 20 years at this point. We had played Magfest 4 back in 2006, when it was capped at 400 people. It’s now a multi million dollar LLC and sells out the 22k capacity in minutes every year. This is now just one of their many one day events to promote their Super Bowl held each February. These amazing people, working tirelessly behind the scenes and on stage, most times pulling double and triple duty, met us with open arms and clear instructions on where to go. We were a little more gray in the beards but otherwise, this was a longstanding working and mutually respectful relationship.

I set up merch. I brought the last of our vinyl and wanted to sell it all. It was a packed house and we needed a home run to end things. I carefully placed our GoPros on the back of the stage, near the balcony, this time KNOWING I would actually have a big crowd to capture. We did a quick line check while the upstairs band was playing. Staggered sets meant things would need to run on time. I remarked to the MC, Brentalfloss, backstage that things were running so smoothly and he said “yeah, it’s almost like we grew up and learned how to run a show finally.” We played a short set, mainly full of our silly covers. It wasn’t my ideal array of songs to end a tour but the energy was so fucking good. We ran through “Tango”, our mashup of Por Una Cabeza and Habanera (from Carmen) Stalemate (an original), along with the themes from Terminator 2 and Knight Rider. One of our new covers is “No One Knows” from Queens of the Stone Age and is always a crowd favorite among various demographics. Tara takes the vocal line and I do the guitar and bass simultaneously. Applause snapped at the end of each song and we were finally among people that actually understood our dorky theme songs. We played only one of the video game songs we had prepared. The Final Fantasy song went over really well as expected. Partially due to the time but also because I chickened out, we opted out of doing the Bach Tetris piece. We had tried it briefly in Cincinnati and couldn’t get past the first few notes. I got spooked and bailed. It was a simple six count in but I was so worried to end on such an iffy, unrehearsed song. The Waltz would be our closing song and I’m glad I did that, but not without some second guessing later that we should have ended with an original. End strong, leave an impression. We kept things running on time for the entire fest. Do you see the glow from our halos here?

We watched a few more bands and then packed up. We couldn’t stay for the whole night. The decision was made to make the trek home that night so we weren’t racing the clock for the van rental in the morning. We knew this dill-pickle shit of a rental company would charge us for anything and everything so dropping Danny off in Brooklyn, unloading, cleaning and returning by noon wasn’t fucking happening. Fuck you very much, Drivo Rent a Car. This way, we could at least put some of that mythical sleep into the equation. I had linked up with my friend Dave at the show. He’s in a few bands in Baltimore and had played the Ottobar several times before. He’s also in an instrumental trio band called Deaf Scene, previous stars of our past tour diary, as well as a heavy hitter doom band called Black Lung. He’s been an ally and die-hard friend for the past decade. He’s not in the video game scene but he’s not unfamiliar with it either. He invited us to a small party later his bandmate was throwing. I had housed Black Lung in my small one bedroom apartment a few months back while they were playing in NYC on tour so, legally, they all have to be my friends for life. The soiree was a leaving-the-apartment get-together. We showed up to this ancient looking dorm apartment, complete with spiraling stairwells and communal hallway bathrooms. It was two stories and in a nice neighborhood. Don’t even ask what they were paying per month. It’s not good for your health. The tenants had moved out that very day and decided to say goodbye to their homestead of four years with close friends. And now, with us.

We could hear the commotion upstairs as we climbed to what must have been some kind of a former living room. Assorted debris, old souvenirs, scattered clothes and errant jewelry sat on a blanket. The free-for-all was designed to get rid of items that didn’t quite make the cut to the new abode. Camping chairs formed a circle around dip and chips on a milk crate. Voices carried and pinged off the empty rooms like sonar, echoing louder and easily dominating a tiny Bluetooth speaker on the floor next to a left-behind vase. Everyone was so kind and welcoming. We knew it was a surreal day for them and it reminded me of the fear and discomfort of change, but also the excitement that metamorphosis often brings. One of the first tours this band ever did, a year after we formed, was a three day run up to Buffalo, NY and back. I had met my drummer in Philly after getting my first tattoo. The next day we played in Harrisburg at a pastry shop called The Whole Cannoli. It ended up being a surprisingly amazing show and we headed back to an afterparty at my childhood home. My parents had already moved and the next day we had some potential buyers coming in. The house was completely empty, besides a handful of close personal friends and people that followed us from the show. It was one of those nights that will forever stick with me. We all slept, or passed out, on various floors. One of us never left the hot tub and one person had to be asked kindly to leave the premises. We cleaned up and left by 9:45am before the 10am clients arrived. They made an offer that afternoon.

Dave asked if I wanted to go to the roof. Fuck yes, I did. If the fire escape was sketchy, the ladder up the front of the building was barely a doodle. It was jutting out maybe an inch from the building and felt thick with years of derelict rust. Black paint chipped and the stucco on the wall scraped our fingers as we carefully ascended. It wasn’t more than two meters up but each rung felt like a kilometer. Tara was behind me as I summited. I saw her head pop up over the side. I could see her weighing the options of continuing. She takes a long look around and says “You know, it’s beautiful up here, I’m good though.” And her face disappeared in the night slowly but surely. Danny didn’t make it past the third step. Below us was full of life. People bar-hopping and making late night runs to the Royal Farms across the street. The night was clear and the air was almost brisk. To the south of us was the skyline of Baltimore. We sat by city chimneys and talked for a long while about music, our bands and what the future might hold. He admitted that he has found peace with opting out of the rigorous rat race of social media. “I want to be in a band with people that I love and make music that I find interesting. If that resonates with people, great” was his paraphrased mantra. I’ve been conflicted for years about taking this route. Competing with a whole new generation and success model feels like a barefoot Sisyphus pushing a square block up a hill made of broken glass and peppered with granulated sea salt. I want off the ride. The more artists adhere to this short attention span consumption schedule, the more the product suffers. And, it’s just not fun. It’s not rewarding and it’s been awful for my mental health. I’ve been a terrible partner and friend to people that I love because I knowingly continue this repetition. We both discussed pushing away former bandmates and people in our lives because we had this entity, this band, to keep feeding, like an embryonic, parasitic twin sticking out of our necks. I miss when it was simple and fans could wait for full albums, and content that had staying power. But, it’s not up to me. The only thing that matters is how I can react and adapt to the way things are.

We ventured back down the ladder and to the party, very carefully and safely. It was getting late so we said our goodbyes. Everyone congratulated us on a finished tour. I’m glad we could be there for their final night in this place as well. We had eked in at the very end to this apartment and its final memories for these people. I’d be doing the drive back since I’m the sober one. No one was wasted or anything. It’s just us being responsible. Plus, I wasn’t tired at all. I wanted to savor the last moments of this tour. It’s about a three hour drive back to NYC and I’ve earned a single Oreo for what we accomplished today. Maybe, even two.

(Back in Brooklyn, at 4am)

Final Thoughts

I’ve been back from tour for a couple days and am finishing this diary. People are asking how the tour went. Everyone from really close friends to work acquaintances. I really don’t know how to answer this question. The honest answer is that I hate coming back from tour. It’s an adjustment. Sedentary life back in the city eats away at me. I only feel alive and happy when I’m traveling and doing this. It’s an escape but also the only sliver of time I’m truly doing what I’m supposed to be doing, what I’m actually good at doing. Perhaps it’s unrealistic and fantastical, but that’s where I’m at emotionally. I tell people “the tour went well. A little bumpy at first but we turned it around.” It’s a quick assessment but I can correctly gauge how in depth of a TedTalk these people might want to hear about the extreme ups and downs that occurred. I think about the despair of sitting on a curb in a Guitar Center parking lot hearing we might have an arrest warrant put out for us for vehicle theft. And then, I think of the euphoria and pride I felt for this band that night in Minneapolis, at our furthest point west on this Iliad. We grow lifetimes on each one of these tours. Tara, Danny and I bond on these long drives between destinations as we sometimes head into the unknown. We all sleep in the same room at times and eat every meal together. It’s impossible to not see other aspects of their lives pop up and learn something new. I envy other bands that get to do this more often, that have dates arranged and organized well in advance by professional booking agents that actually are looking out for their best interest. Every tour gets harder to book. Each time, I feel like it might be my last. And then, all it takes is one show offer, one support slot or one festival to turn the crank and again open the floodgates.

I woke up yesterday and started doom-scrolling Instagram. My excitement to see a band I love posting a tour itinerary. My thoughts race to see where and if I know any of the venues or any contacts that I could potentially hit up. I zoom in to see an acquaintance’s band on the byline as added to all dates listed. They have just scored a month-long support slot on this huge tour package. They’re opening for one of my favorite bands. For over 25 dates. In really nice venues as well. It wrecked half of my day. To compare is to despair, they say. I just don’t know how to feel with this venture at times. I couldn’t even have a couple days to bask in the success of completing our own tour, one that we booked completely by ourselves, without now being extremely jealous of an opportunity like that. I mean, we pulled off some fucking miracles on this one. But, none of that is close to knowing the right person at the right time. Not that they don’t deserve it (they hustle hard), or that we would even be a better fit (I don’t think we would). I’m just here, after almost 15 years with this band, waiting for that break. I might be waiting forever. Maybe that’s why I keep trudging along and booking these tours. Someone has to notice eventually, right?

I miss it. I love it. I hate preparing for it. I’m in one of the phases in the cycle of abuse. But, if I could find a Bermuda Triangle where I could stay in it, a time loop with no exit, like a broken carousel, powered by perpetual motion machines skirting every law of physics, I’d accept my fate and start setting up merch.

Thanks

Big thanks to Tara and Danny for doing this with me and keeping this band alive. It means a lot they believe in this with me and are cool with me writing about our experiences. Thank you to everyone that we met on the road, that housed and fed us or shared the stage or a piece of drum hardware with us. We are gracious for all the bookers that took a chance on us, even if they don’t remember us. We didn’t get pulled over. All of our tires remained full and we arrived back in New York with all limbs intact. I am sorry for misspelling Milwaukee on the tour poster. But, after that show, I won’t lose much sleep about it either.

Check out our band on Spotify and Instagram. It would mean a lot to us if you gave us a listen or a follow, since that is the metric these days for gratitude.

You can also find me on a podcast that I run called “Surf Dudes with Attitude.” Myself and other touring musicians examine every episode of the 90’s teen show “California Dreams” about a corny high school band.

Thanks again for reading this far and for No Treble for putting out long-form literary pieces still. Next time, I’ll condense this all down to a six second Vine video.