Canada!

We made it into Canada!  Including Colin!  There is a minor paperwork hitch at the border, but we basically charm our way through.  (Actually, the people at the border had just ordered lunch and it showed up while we were there…so they probably just wanted to expedite the process as much as possible).

Falling asleep on a bench in the club in Toronto, I dream that we're back in the UK – both the club and the city seem so much like there to me.  When I was younger, I spend a bunch of time with my family there.  Its very cool to come back as an adult and experience the city anew.

The 401 stretches up to Montreal, and we follow it as it winds along the lake.  Despite the cold, it’s a sunny winter day – we haven't had much sunlight on this tour, and it seems to rejuvenate everyone's spirits a bit.  We also got a decent night of sleep in Toronto (the first 7 hour sleep of the tour for everyone)…and we have three shows left this year.

Ames, IA

The audience at Ames's historic M-Shop is the polar opposite of the St. Paul crowd.  Everyone sits and is dead silent, until we stop playing.  I like playing small, receptive listening rooms – there's something about people being able to hear the unamplified guitar strings ringing out, or the click of a pedal that takes the mystery out of a live show – in a good way.  Seeing people play up close takes away your ability to hide behind smoke and mirrors (and sheer volume) – it just becomes a matter of trying to connect, on a one-to-one basis.

 

Minneapolis

Its great to play a show again, especially at the Turf Club.  Early on, we decided that we wouldn't take nights off, if possible – even if we only make a few bucks on a Monday night in a small town…we at least made a few bucks, played a show, and then maybe next time it'll be better.  Or – as has been the case a few times, the Monday night might be the best show of the tour.  We're so used to playing, I was worried about being rusty – even though it was only a few days.  I do realize that we're a little different than most bands in that regard, though.

The Turf Club in St. Paul is one of my favorite venues in the country – great sound, great staff, fun green room.  Miles ends his set with the Replacements "Here Comes A Regular" and I jump up on steel and Robby on harp and drums.

We Made It!

We made it.  We made it!

It seems anticlimactic to pull into a Days Inn and stop moving.  And then we get a phone call from the Miles crew.  They didn't make it.  In the same snow and ice, they crashed. 

They're ok (as ok as you can be crashing your van).  And Miles finds a plane ticket to Minneapolis.   So his band is going back to NYC, and Miles will ride in the van with them.

For all the miles we drive, I think we take our safety for granted.  And now and then I'm reminded exactly how fragile this all is.

Vancouver to Minneapolis

We have a few days off so we can get from Vancouver to…Minneapolis.  Almost 2000 miles.  Overnight stops in Butte, MT and Fargo, ND.

We hit snow – first of the tour.  Few things are as terrifying to me as guiding our big rear-wheel drive van through snowy mountain passes, in the dark.  And every time the snow briefly lets up…it gets foggy. 

Finally, we reach my cousin's arts complex in Butte.  It’s a huge, 6 story building for artists, build into an old YMCA.  Complete with basketball arena.  It is just another surreal part of an already surreal day.

We again cross endless plains of snow, trees covered.  Aside from the stray truck, we seem to be the only car on the road.  Vague shapes appear in the blinding white haze -farms and boxcars, or the ghosts of farms and boxcars.  We could be the only people left in the world, for all we know.  

Vancouver

We've got Miles in the van with us today – his band is staying in Seattle with their broken van, so he'll play solo.  Also, we decide not to risk getting Colin across the border today (long story for after the Toronto shows), so we leave him with a friend in Bellingham.

And then, paperwork all printed, passports in order, we head to the border.   Even with everything in order and no reason to worry, its hard not to worry when you're sitting in a huge building with fluorescent lights beaming down and you and the armed border crossing officers.

The show in Vancouver turns out to be the best show of the tour.  Justin and I switch off on bass, and we dig out some older songs and arrangements.  The Media Club reminds me so much of playing in the UK – a small, intimate club with lots of candles and an incredibly attentive audience.  We end the show by playing "End" completely acoustic in the middle of the room.  And our host Ingrid makes us an incredible meal.  For a place we've never played a show, it’s a total success.

As a result of all of this success, I am also incredibly hung over.  And in the middle of the night, someone scrawls "CANADA RULES" on our American-flag-bedecked spare tire cover.

Seattle

Just as we're pulling up to the venue, we get a call from the Miles Benjamin Anthony Robinson crew.  Their van is broken down, about 10 blocks from the venue.  We go into full problem-solving mode.

1)      All of the bands are going to share our backline, including amps.

2)      We start our soundcheck while Jesse goes to get the MBAR crew and as much gear they can toss into the van.

3)      Jesse gets onstage, checks vocals.  Our soundcheck is done.

4)      We make sure the MBAR crew have enough time to get set up and familiar with our amps before their set.

And all goes well, and as on time as ever.  It might not be as extreme every time, but this is the kind of stuff we deal with every day.  Always an interesting job, for certain.  Big old vans and so much gear and so many miles to go in such a short time.

Portland, OR

Mississippi Street, Portland, OR

Arcata to Portland

Got back from the show around 2-ish, up at 8 for a quick shower.  Sarah shows up with bagels, Craig just barely awake in the cold and foggy dawn.  We stumble into the van, and we're off, through the fog.

The waves crash near the towering redwoods.  I want to wake everyone up, but there's no shortage of scenery, and there's always a shortage of sleep.  Robby fully extended on the back seat, Colin and Jesse slumped over in the middle.  Justin fitfully dozes in the passenger's seat.  "tour brain" has fully set in – the lack of sleep and unhealthy habits of being on the road.  The hardest question you can ask a touring band is "where were you two days ago?"

San Francisco

Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge:

Santa Cruz to San Francisco

The Crepe Place in Santa Cruz is one of my favorite stops.  In addition to incredible crepes and a great staff, both shows we played there were memorable.  Its just a tiny room where you set up on the floor.  No separation between audience and performer.  And because of that, the set is incredibly visceral -  you're face to face with people, watching them respond to what you're doing (and vice versa).  As the saying goes, you build your audience one person at a time.  In this case, it couldn't be more true.  And that's a really special thing to be a part of.

After the show, the message not to take the 17 up to the place we're staying gets lost in the shuffle.  So, I take route 17 in the middle of the night…through the mountain passes and the rain and fog.  It is just as harrowing as ever, but we make it.

...and then we're in San Francisco.  I love the city.  But I also love that we have so many friends here.  Its hard to feel lonely when you're surrounded by old friends (one of my college housemates lives here) and new friends. 

Los Angeles

There is nothing like the rush of playing a good show.  From that first moment when things start coming together, to that moment when you realize that the audience is actually on your side.  For me, that's our LA show.  I actually think that as a band, we're getting good at playing big/important shows.  The surreal ones where you can't quite believe the people who are showing up – the industry folks, the connected ones, the famous ones, etc.  Its those shows where it actually feels that we're making slow, steady progress.  It also feels really strange.  It helps that we've been playing so many shows at at this for a bit – because otherwise my sense of "self" would probably be thoroughly skewed, or at least well on its way.

We talk a lot about how at this point in our career, we get booked into two types of shows – we're either "art" or "entertainment".  Our Halloween show was "entertainment" – the loud, raucous, party shows.  Where the goal isn't to get people to do anything other than have fun.  The "art" shows are where we get to do what we do – to put on something people want to listen to.  Obviously, with something as visceral as rock music, the ideal show is a mixture of both.  But the show at Spaceland in LA is our first "art" show of the tour.

We've got our manager Kyle along for the next few days.  He's absolutely fantastic at his job, and also just a fun person to be around.  One of my favorite things about our team – our label, our PR people, and so on – is that they're just a great group of people.  I'd want to hang out with them even if we weren't all working together.  I realize that its not considered very cool to like your label…but we do.

San Diego, CA Nov. 2 – 4

One show in San Diego, but the rest is…relaxation.  Our friend and photographer Sarah lives in Del Mar, about a block from the beach.  So we wander out to the beach in the middle of the night, and the fog.  And again in the morning.  And again after the show.

Considering that we're used to playing 7 nights a week, being on the west coast and having time to relax seems positively decadent.

November 1, 2009 – Sedona, AZ

One of the new things (for us) about this current tour is that we actually have a few nights off – Sedona, AZ being one of them. We end up at our new friends April and Jake's house…after a full day of driving, we pull up in beautiful Sedona, tired and exhausted and hungry in the dark – to light. To a beautiful house in the mountains with a campfire and a grill and wine and food. And so we get out our guitars and pass them around the fire, everyone taking their turn. Playing songs we know, songs we barely know, songs we don't know at all.

And that moment, that connection, is restorative – to find that despite everything this year, the good and the bad, the countless hours and the argument, we still love playing music. We love playing it, we love knowing it, we love talking about it, we love listening to other people play is - we love to be a whatever small part we in this art.

Halloween in Santa Fe

Standing by the graveside of Billy the Kid, in Fort Sumner, New Mexico. "He Died As He Lived", carved into the marble. That's about all we can ask for, in the end. So I toss a quarter to the grave…for luck, or inspiration, or maybe just because it seems like the thing to do. And then we drive on across the sun-blasted plains.

Halloween in Santa Fe – we came up with the idea of being…a 1950s band dressed up as classic monsters. So – matching black shoes and pants, white shirts. Jesse as the wolfman, me as the mummy, Robby as Dracula, Colin as Frankenstein, and Justin as a classic Halloween witch. It is definitely difficult to play music with about 25 strips of cloth tied around your head. Also difficult to breathe. Drinking is tough, but I managed somehow.

It was surreal for me, playing a big show, dressed up, in a town where we don't really know anyone. And then a KISS cover band plays after us…which is cool. I never was all that into Halloween as a kid, or even as an adult – it was usually a party I skipped or ignored. But it was fun to play.

Halloween is such a strange and interesting holiday. One night, where people basically confront their own fears, desires…the extremes of the human psyche. All wrapped up in one bacchanalian celebration. I realize that most people probably view it as "get dressed up and drink a lot" – but getting to watch it from the outside (ie not knowing anyone around me), I felt like I saw it from a slightly different perspective. But it could have just been the cloth strips around my head.

Lubbock, TX

The green of East Texas gives way to the massive urban sprawl of Dallas. And then, as the frontage roads filled with chain stores and gas stations fade away, the world seems to open up. There is no place I've ever been that seems so vast and beautiful. No matter how many times we've driven through it, the easy banter always gives way to a profound quiet, each of us in our own world under the epic sky. Between the storms of yesterday and the landscape today, we are constantly reminded how small we are compared to nature – and how in the face of that we struggle and strive to somehow create something larger than ourselves.

The joy of having low expectations:

-finding out that what you thought was the stage is actually not…and that there's a nice backroom with a good stage/system/lights.
-finding out that the local opener is actually really good.
-playing with the band Warpaint…who are fantastic.
-having a great show of our own, despite having never been to Lubbock before.

Shreveport, LA - 10/29/09

We're in Shreveport, LA. Its raining. In fact, its been raining all day, ever since we got there. We limped the van in the night before with a bad wheel bearing, and we're sitting, waiting, watching the rain. Despite it pouring the entire day – massive thunderstorms and downpours, the promoter is still excited about the show.

Finally, the van is fixed, we load in in the pouring rain. And then, calmly, the door person says "is everything of value out of your van?". "Is this a bad neighborhood?" we ask. "No", he says…"there's a tornado about a mile away, headed this way."

We immediately spring into action, taking everything of value out (for me: copy of Don Quixote and my GPS). Then we realize that maybe we should move the van. We stash it in an alley, and then head in to wait out the storm.

The tornados eventually pass by (none near enough to do any damage to us). But the storms never stop – hours go by, and we're still waiting to see if we're going to play. The venue is an old department store, so the giant empty spaces dripping water just seem creepy.

After an eternity of waiting, we realize that we might be the only people dumb enough to venture out in the midst of tornados. So…we play. We take our gear off the stage, and set up for an acoustic set near the bar for the 10 people or so there. Amidst the puddles and the thunder, we play.

We load out in the drenching rain, and head back, and off to sleep.

Session Work, Day One

One of the advantages of playing a strange instrument (pedal steel) is that I get to do a bunch of session work. For those of you who don't know, session work involves someone giving you money to learn their songs and play on their record. Or, if they're your friends, usually just giving you a "thanks for coming by". But much differently than with my own band - where I can fight tooth and nail for an idea I love - even though I'm usually writing the parts, they're not "mine." Its a situation where you basically do as you're told, for better and for worse.

I started a session yesterday - it was supposed to be cut and dry. The guy gave me the demos of the songs, chord charts, and we talked through them. So I went away and hid in my little cave and worked out parts for the songs. Easy enough.

Of course, by the time I actually arrived at the studio, things had gone differently. The songs I'd learned were mostly by the wayside, jettisoned for new songs with entirely new arrangements. Its a terrifying situation - its like writing a speech, and then, upon taking the podium, discovering that you're supposed to improvise a new one. While someone else is paying for the time you're there.

But that's my job, right?

So onward we go - and gradually, things start to come together. The parts that I originally had become "concepts" for me to steal ideas from, and with the help of the songwriter and the engineer, new parts gradually and slowly emerge, and everyone seems to be pleased with them. And by the end of a few hours, lo and behold, we've actually got a few songs, and I've got a few new ideas to try out tonight.