Black Beast Revival’s Eron James (vocals and guitar) and Brice Ervin (bass) during one of their performances

. The band stops traffic on the Tacoma freeway when the van’s tire blows out.

Black Beast Revival

Our story begins the day after Thanksgiving. Black Beast Revival is scheduled to play at the Tiger Bar in Portland at 9 p.m. Eight people managed to cram into the “Whiskey Beast” (our sentimentally treasured band van) along with all the equipment. We somehow leave punctually on time, a rarity among most rock bands, especially ours. The first couple hours go nice and smoothly; a poor representation of the next 24. We pick up Zack, our lead guitar, at a tequila bar near Marysville where he’s just had a close run in with Marysville PD for being accused of being an inebriated bum. Upon quick interrogation the cop realizes our guitar player is as smooth with his reasoning as he is with a guitar. Zack makes a new friend and fan, Marysville PD. We grab Brice, our bass player, in Seattle and load the cooler with turkey-day leftovers. The Thanksgiving dinner sandwich trend begins.

As we near the Tacoma area we start to notice the ride hasn’t been quite as smooth as when we started. Our beloved band van is riding more and more rough with every new mile. Eventually the female voices of reason demand an assessment of the situation and the van reluctantly exits and heads to the nearest Sears Tire Center. The tire attendant removes a dangerously lopsided tire from the back end and replaces it for free (Black Beast suddenly realizes the less obvious convenience of female fans, lucky bastards).

The Whiskey Beast is back on the road having narrowly averted blow out catastrophe. Most of the van members sleep the rest of the way to Portland due to the massive turkey coma still in effect, waking only to chain smoke in the poorly ventilated van.

We roll into Portland and make it to the Tiger Bar EARLY, no one knows how this is possible. The Tiger Bar reveals to be a quite satisfactory venue. Good ambiance, lighting, sound stage, private band room and SUPER HOT BARTENDERS who prove to be a hearty distraction and eventual cause of heart break, and shot gunning beers in the parking lot under cover of the van.The band plays an epic set with a quite enduring crowd that includes our beloved Jonny Reno of Vice Machine and Jenny Don’t from’Ladies of the Night & Don’t. Jonny and Jenny prove to be the ultimate hosts by showing us the best nightlife Portland has to offer. The Swift and Star Bar were among our favorites.

After a long drive and lovely evening out we turn in. We pull into a Motel 6 where we manage to sneak in eight mostly inebriated and slightly unruly rockers and a small dog. Our evening continues well into the break of dawn. All one big blur of shot gunning beers in the bathtub; chain smoking Oregon-cheap smokes; shoulder rides (everybody get a turn!); ingenious motel fort construction; underwear party (some are more modest than others); several trips to 7-11 for beers, smokes and taquitos; and unsuccessful passing out due to Roadie Jor-el’s incapacitating snoring. (Please see online videos for best depictions.)

The next morning we wake up to housekeeping, a barking dog, Jor-el STILL snoring, Zack passed out on TOP of the entertainment center and only one smart person sleeping in the van away from the unnerving thunderous sounds coming from our roadie’s throat (good call Wolf). Once we convince housekeeping there are only four people in the room and no dog, we quickly gather ourselves and prepare to load down the band van once again. We leave the room an utter stinky disaster littered with beer cans, stale smoke and B.O. just like a rock band should.

Before we hit the road we realize breakfast is a crucial commodity to continuing the rest of the day. We find a steak and legs special at The Acrop, a highly recommended and NW famous strip club. Steak and legs. Need I say more? We all enjoy a fine cut of 16-ounce top sirloin and discover not all strippers are… well…. worthy of our hard earned dollars, while others are worthy our full attention, admiration, love and ALL our money. Her name was Brittany and she was the sexiest red headed, tattooed, masterfully pierced, naked goddess any of us had ever seen. We were of course forced to leave after trying to sneak her into the van, but we still got her number.

Though it was a grand experience, we will forever envy Brice, who somehow got all his dances for free. Guess some men are just born with it.

After our intensely satisfying yet unsatisfying breakfast we are back on the road and the whole van is passed out within seconds. Jor-el continues to snore. We wake only for pit stops, chain smoking and a terrifying blown tire at 70 miles per hour. We are forced to pull to the left side of the Tacoma freeway, which is done with such professional ease by Bill, our drummer, a man of many skills and talents, which include averting us from total disaster more than once. Our poor band van is laid up on the Tacoma freeway during rush hour traffic. It shakes horrifically every time a car drives by which is about every 0.65 seconds. A cop stops to assist us and decides to stop all traffic so we may cross to the other side. BBR goes down in history as the first rock band to completely stop traffic on the Tacoma freeway. Once our tow truck arrives we realize there is no way all eight of us are going to fit in the tow truck or the cop car. We are granted a once in a lifetime opportunity to ride in the van while it is on top of the flat bed of the tow truck like the rock stars we truly are. (Again, see online videos for best depiction.)

Once again, we hang at Sears Tire Center while our tire is replaced. Once again, the ladies charm the hell outta the tire boys and get a good deal. We are back on the road in less than an hour, though now late (as usual) to our next gig in Oak Harbor.

We roll in to Oak Harbor out of gas and just in time to set up. The boys play yet another epic show and the crowd demands encore after encore. The last song is a Mars Volta cover that even Mars Volta would have been blown away by.

The Whiskey Beast and her travelers arrive haggard back in Bellingham by 3 a.m. We all go to sleep the best sleep of our lives in our own beds in beautiful silence with the absence of our favorite roadie’s obstructive sleep apnea.

For more info about the band, follow them on Facebook or Reverb Nation.

Scenes from the Southwest. Photo by Havilah Rand

I am half pacing, half jogging around my apartment in a panicked, sweaty display of back and forth picking things up and putting them down only to forget where they are and then back up the long flight of stairs from the car when I remember sort of dance. I have an appointment at 4 p.m. in Oklahoma City to shoot a video. It’s 9:42 a.m. and it takes six hours to get there no stopping at Starbucks. Late last night I came to my senses, which is rare these days, and emailed the guy requesting that we postpone the shoot till the following day when I would be more relaxed and not looking like I had just been shot from a cannon. I hate being that flaky musician who cancels and postpones stuff at the last minute but I decide to accept the truth, at least for today. I am that person. Or rather, I am that singer songwriter chic who is pushing 40 and still can’t disengage from this life of writing songs, driving to random cities and playing them for every manner of person and circumstance. Six or so years ago I succumbed to my biological voices crying out for a nest, a steady paycheck, a career with a minimal amount of precarious outcomes and unknowns… it didn’t take. I resigned from my post as middle school Language Arts teacher/drill sergeant and since then I’ve been driving, flying, riding trains, renting cars and singing to just about anyone who will listen. I’m getting a little weary though, some of these gigs are so bad they’re funny. Read on.

The Oklahoma City video guy (his program is called Acoustic Oklahoma and its actually pretty cool) gets back to me at 2 a.m. with an email that says, “No.” I call him horrible names telepathically and start to cry and then realize it doesn’t matter and go back to sleep. But he is one of the main reasons I am racing around like some sweaty chicken who’s missing one of its eyeballs. At 10 a.m. I get a phone call. Apparently he meant “No problem” except he forgot a word. Thanks for the anxiety attack you drunk. I’ll be there at 11 p.m. for my gig and not a minute before. I keep this to myself and graciously thank him for his flexibility.

I am on the road by two and Havilah’s Autumn Southwest Tour has begun. Oklahoma is exactly what I expect. Tuesday night at 11 isn’t exactly prime time but it’s my first time there and I suck it up. Which means I play four songs, thank everyone for their chatter and leave. Then I drive around town for two hours searching for a 24-hour supermarket in the sea of strip malls and car dealerships. I’m practically in Kansas before I settle on a Walmart, buy some provisions and head back to my motel. My mood lifts as I lay in the comfy hotel bed eating noodles and watching cable.

The next few days I spend driving to Fort Collins, CO. My gig there is about seven miles outside of town. Again, new territory for me but they’ve offered to pay for a motel so what the hell. When I arrive at said motel there is no reservation. I cough up $50 and try not to punch the sweet, elderly Asian lady who doesn’t accept credit cards. When I arrive at the gig, I am equally amused and appalled to see a room full of drunk lumberjacks and bearded, hoodied hippies playing pool in front of the stage and throwing assorted objects to a couple of dogs who are running around. There is also a formal dart competition occurring complete with blue team red team t-shirts. The place can’t be more than 800 square feet. Despite my horror, I set up my guitar and merch stand, complete a sound check through which is actually a pretty good sounding system and head for the bar. Three glasses of red wine and 15 songs later and I have four new fans in LaPorte, CO. Mission accomplished. I even get reimbursed for the motel.

On a rainy Saturday evening I get lost in Denver. When my GPS (lovingly dubbed Wilma) finally guides me to the correct destination I emerge from my car and attempt to carry my guitar, merch display, bag ‘o random cords and stuff five blocks to the Walnut Room Pizzeria. The Walnut Room is actually a well known venue and great room to play in. It’s subsidiary, The Walnut Room Pizzeria, is an entirely different matter. I burst through the doors, wet and clutching 75 percent of the contents of my car and immediately panic. The place is packed. Wall to wall people eating pizza and drinking beer. But where the hell is the stage? Slowly I look up and to my amazement, I see mic stands perched on a three foot wide platform ABOVE the bar. Trying hard not to barf from panic and the five blocks I just ran holding 140 pounds of crap, I introduce myself to Pauly the seven-foot muscle clad bartender from Sweden. I swear I would have walked out but of all gigs, this is the one where fans actually show up to see me. The next few hours are a blur. At the end, I’ve sold a fair amount of CDs, made $27 in tips, gained a few new fans and eaten some pretty good pizza, for Colorado anyways. Mission accomplished. I push onward to New Mexico.

In Taos I treat myself to a personal writing retreat and rent an amazing house through Airbnb. I spend the next few days watching it snow, perusing art galleries and banging away at the guitar, hoping a new song or two decides to show up. My nerves are calmed. I find space to remind myself why I do this, that it’s the journey not the destination, that even if I never make any money or gain any recognition this is the life I officially chose after trying on a few others. Or maybe it chose me…either way the few new people who are moved by my melodies and lyric are worth the hassle, the long empty highways that actually keep me sane, the half empty rooms that are also half full.

The old ghosts towns of West Texas are waiting for me. Drunk on Lone Star and their horizon every shade of orange as the sun sets on an old spaghetti western landscape. I wave goodbye to the Buckhorn Saloon and Opera House circa 1868 in Pinos Altos and its owner Thomas whose customers showered me with tips and compliments and more red wine than was necessary. To the luxurious cabin I was provided that had french doors to a patio where the full moon and rising sun were in plain view over the pines. To the fancy Keonig coffee maker I couldn’t figure out how to use. I get in the car, set Wilma to Marfa, Texas and drive.

Havilah Rand makes her way back to Bellingham in December for the winter. She has a show at The Blue Horse Gallery on Dec. 23. For more about her, check out havilahmusic.com.

Boris Budd at Hempfest

As I prepared for a week of touring in August it would have been impossible to imagine the misadventures and magic that was about to unfold. In the words of Robert Frost, I took the “road less traveled” in what turned out to be a story of sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll, international espionage, racial profiling, birth, revelation and a celebrity meeting.

Gig 1: Comet Tavern, Seattle

As we pulled away from Carnelian Agency with fresh copyies of our new record GOD IS GAY, I somehow knew something out of the ordinary was about to happen. We were south of Mount Vernon, on our way to Seattle for the first gig of my mini tour. I was sitting in the passenger seat, sipping a Fresca, when all of a sudden we were in a stopped traffic jam. As we sat for what seemed to be an hour, it became evident that the accident might endanger our timely arrival for the gig. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a man jumped out of the mini-van in front of us. He screamed that his wife was having a baby in very broken English. Luckily, we had some water which had become warm due to the August heat and my wife’s frugality regarding use of the air conditioner in our car. I took the bottle over to the van and amazingly helped deliver a baby. The true miracle of life. I later learned they named the baby Boris Budd Wu.

At this point the traffic had cleared up and we were back on our way. We arrived at the club as the other groups, Assumption, Illinois and Fort King were loading in their gear. My set began in 45 minutes and a nice number of Seattle friends showed up. I walked outside and burnt one in the alley with my friend Madge and CSB, the latter finding a peculiar rock on the side of the alley that had the message “Be good to each other and Everyone” painted on it. We went into the Comet and I played my set of all acoustic protest songs. It was a really good time. A lot of energy. We then hung out for some Assumption, which I didn’t enjoy. We drove home to Bellingham with the windows down as the softness of the warm August night air invigorated us. We pulled over at a rest stop just north of exit 224 at made love passionately. It was a successful tour kickoff indeed.

Gig 2: The Shakedown, Bellingham

In what developed in my mind as our huge homecoming gig, the premier of my album live with The Waterboarders, this gig had the makings of something special from the get go. As we arrived, club co-owner Marty Watson, dressed in a Ron Paul costume, greeted us with his gang of 20 Tea Party members who decide to forgoe their weekly “Drinking with the Nazis” meeting at the Beaver to protest The Waterboarders appearance. After they were out of breath in a few minutes we set up and played a sloppy, loud, fun set. We were joined on the bill by 1985 and the fabulous Candysound. To get to play in my hometown with a lot of friends is always awesome. Marty later apologized for his antics by giving me an audiobook by Ayn Rand.

Gig 3: Trees Organic Coffee, Vancouver, B.C.

I took the train from Fairhaven Station to Vancouver. I was staying at my friend’s high rise, luxury condo so things were looking up. We reached Pacific Station in Vancouver. I had my service dog Augie (I am legally blind in both eyes, have no detail or central vision and use a white cane because I can’t see the ground clearly. I do have side or peripheral vision, a lot of energy and large feet), my guitar and my computer. At customs I was taken aside and asked if the agents could go through my stuff. After ripping my things apart and taking my dog away the agents took me into a dark room and started pressuring me to give them information about my life as a Russian spy. They said Russia was very upset after their hockey team lost to Canada 8-1 in the 2010 Olympics and had planted spies in Canada to learn their new fangled triangle defense. I told them they were absolutely insane and that I was a dope smoking protest singer from America. They then let me go on my way. Very scary I must say.

Being a little frazzled I grabbed a taxi with Augie in tow and dropped off my stuff. I grabbed my guitar and headed down to the New Amsterdam Caf and enjoyed some relaxing cannabis. After 20 minutes I dusted myself off and headed to the gig with the excellent Good Heavens to Betsy, Elaine Ryan and some other chick. It was another really fun show with many familiar people coming up to say hello.

I felt a little tired due to the full week of action and the fact that I am old. We left Vancouver the next morning to head to Seattle Hempfest. We were at the border crossing when the agent asked me to get out of the car and come with him. My wife was upset and asked if she could come but was told to stay put and keep her mouth shut. I was taken into an uncomfortable, bright room where I was told I resembled a possible match they had regarding intelligence that a member of an elite, radical international terrorist group was smuggling WMD’s into the country. They then subjected me to a humiliating body cavity search. I was cleared but did receive phone numbers from a male agent who resembled Marcus Bachmann.

Gig 4: Seattle Hempfest, Seattle

We were thrilled to have bellebrity Dave Str@y Ney riding with us as he needed a ride to Seattle and we were going to Seattle. In need of coffee, we stopped at Starbucks, which DSN didn’t quite care for due to their global corporate etc, etc. as he texted on his iPhone. Still a lovable fellow and one of the truly great Jewish country singing pirates. So, we dropped DSN off and headed to the fest where we were treated to speakers like Dennis Kuchinch and Rick Steves while mingling with top activists, doctors and lawyers in the cannabis movement.

The next day was the gig and we were closing out the fest. The Waterboarders had a substitution with Luke Warm, who had kindly agreed to fill in for Scott Greene, who was very, very, very busy with numerous things. Before the set the band decided to hit the smoking area backstage, which was very intense to say the least. Anyway, the drummer hasn’t said a word to me since we were in that tent. The set was powerhouse, really thrilling and loud. What a way to close out the tour. We packed up our gear and said our goodbyes. As we were heading up I-5, exhausted from the six days of insanity, we were stunned as we heard a loud thud, it was a flat tire. We pulled the car off to the side of the road and waited after calling for assistance. I decided to get out of the car and get some air when all of a sudden a bus pulled up behind us on the shoulder. It was believe it or not, Willie Nelson and he was headed to B.C. for a huge festival. We went on the bus and Willie then had one of his crew fix our tire. I told him we just played Hempfest and he thought that was great and pulled out a joint which we had with him.

We got in the car and went home to Bellingham. When we hit the driveway to our home, the Van broke down. Just like it does for every group who has ever done a Tales from the Road.

Somehow, the soulful stars aligned, and Austin Santiago, DJ Booger, the Screaming Eagle of Soul, and Craig Jewell were able to meet and hug it out over breakfast in Portland. COURTESY PHOTO

This Tales from the Road is the story of Craig Jewell (Wild Buffalo), Austin Santiago (BuildStrong), and DJ Booger (Wishbone) and their mission to return the ‘Screaming Eagle of Soul’s’ pants. That Screaming Eagle, who is better known as Daptone Recording artist Charles Bradley, performed at the Wild Buffalo House of Music for a sold out audience on Sunday, Sept. 4. Everyone was blown away with the soulful revival and the energy in the room was at an all-time high. Charles and his band were just as grateful of the experience as the crowd was, which really made the night special. We said goodbye and wished them a safe trip down to their next show in Portland for Music Fest Northwest.

The next day Craig received a phone call from Charles Bradley’s tour manager, Chris, who was in a bit of a panic due to the fact that Charles left his shirt, boots, cell phone, and pants at the Wild Buffalo and hotel. Chris suggested that we expedite the items to them through FedEx but we knew that these items were too important to be mailed. We needed to hand deliver them to Charles in exchange for free passes to Music Fest Northwest. How the hell would it look if the Screaming Eagle of Soul performed without pants or boots? So we were off.

The trip started off a bit shaky. Carlton Eide, who also works with the Wild Buffalo, left the back hatch open on Booger’s Subaru and everything fell out of the car as we were leaving. We soon figured out that all of our stuff was gone and we turned around and got it all back. After that, it was smooth sailing down to Portland.

We met up with Chris and the band at this fancy-pants hipster-exclusive barbeque where the beer flowed like wine and even the vegetarians were eating meat. We gave all of the misplaced items to Chris but were a bit disappointed that we didn’t get a chance to see Charles as he had called it an early night.

Day two in Portland began with an early morning set by Swedish soul sensation, Little Dragon. KEXP did a whole run of free shows at The Doug Fir which is not only an incredible venue but was conveniently attached to our hotel. After a stripped down feel good set from LD we met up with Leigh Feldman. Leigh is one of those guys that knows everyone and everything going on. The weather was hovering in the low 90′s by mid-morning so Leigh decided to take us to a nude beach on the river and we all talked about promoting shows while DJ Booger awkwardly waded in the water.

Charles Bradley kicked off our MFNW experience at the historic Aladdin Theatre. Getting a chance to see Charles perform for the second time was nothing short of inspiring. His presence is untouchable and his voice, larger than life. There is an advantageous ambiance associated with seeing the Screaming Eagle of Soul perform in a space with so much history. There was no doubt after the final encore that we all witnessed something special and one of a kind. The performance left everyone glowing, and as the excitement filled the streets, chatter of satisfied concert goers vanquished the sound of nearby traffic. Once again, we unfortunately didn’t get a chance to say hi to Charles since we needed to make it to the next show.

Phantogram was set to perform a free show at The Doug Fir shortly after Charles had ended and even though we were running late we decided to risk it and hop in a cab to see if we could catch part of their set.Upon arrival we were informed the fire alarm had been pulled and the show was running behind schedule.Once the OK was given and we were let into the venue we made our way to a decent vantage point to see what Phantogram had to offer live.Their set was a balancing act between ambient female vocals, heavy synth melodies, and melodic guitar lines. We were all impressed with Phantogram’s ability to make music simple and beautiful on record, yet high energy and driving when performed live.

After a short and sweaty stint at The Doug Fir we decided that the next step was to go to a seedy bar in Chinatown. We met an electro/house DJ that goes under the name, “Easter Egg.” We were told that he was named that because every night he plays a show he blacks out on whiskey and hides in places where no one can find him. One can doubt that he remembers us, but he’s a best friend for life in our book.

It was time for our Portland adventure to come to a close and head back to our fake jobs in Bellingham. As we were leaving town, we “yelped” a nearby breakfast spot and decided to go to an outdoor restaurant called The Big Egg. Somehow the soulful stars aligned and we picked the same place to eat as Charles Bradley and his band. He immediately recognized us and gave us all hugs for driving down there to return his belongings. In return, we made him and his band promise that they would come back and perform in Bellingham again soon.

The three of us left Portland ecstatic and satisfied. The end.

While visiting Madeleine Island in Wisconsin, the Dirt Brothers worked on a float. The theme was “WE’RE BUILDING A ROCKET SHIP TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET” (as we’ve used this one up sort of thing). COURTESY PHOTO

The Dirt Brothers is essentially a picnic band that has been kept alive by a growing number of supportive people who like to shake their tails to the primitive dance rock laid down by the duo. The band started off as an off-shoot of another band the Worn Out Shoes comprised of Phil “Lucky Duck” Moon (guitar, vocals) and Duane McIntyre (drums), after Duane left for Nelson, B.C. to build his mother a timber frame home (right during contract talks with Fat Possum Records bad timing!). Before a pig roast at a friend’s farm in hill-country of rural southwest Wisconsin, Adam “Greasy” Cook picked up a big ole 1900′s circus bass drum, strapped a tambourine to the top and joined Phil to start The Dirt Brothers. Three years later, the duo has been touring and playing mainly Wisconsin, Minnesota, Vermont, and just starting a new chapter in their new home of Bellingham.

This July the duo went back to Wisconsin for a two-week tour.

June 25: Davey and Allie’s wedding – Frog and Toad, Wisconsin

A good start to a tour after a two-month layoff. Adam had been in Vermont and showed up an hour before the wedding started, so no practicing. Beautiful setting in a very remote, lush, Vietnam like valley in southwest Wisconsin. No electricity or running water. These had been my neighbors for 10 years when I had owned a farm up the valley and are some of my dearest friends. Attendance around 200 people, big tent and generator in the middle of the woods with kegs of beer brewed by one of the guys living in the co-op there called Frog and Toad. Great locally grown food, lots of bourbon, sloppy show but good and loud and everybody rocking.

The show lasted for two hours as people didn’t want to stop dancing. We made stuff up for the last hour. After everyone went to bed, we filled the empty back pages of the wedding guest book with bizarre drawings. In the morning I shamefully tore them out.

July 2: Madeleine Island – Tom’s Twice Burned Down Caf , Wisconsin

Madeline Island is an incredible place to be around the 4th. It sits at the top of Wisconsin in Lake Superior which has usually just thawed by that time. During the winter there is a road made on the ice to drive on and off island. This time of year it is hot (heat index was 110 degrees our entire tour) which makes the icy water doable for short periods of time.

Tom’s 2X Burned Down Caf is a great place made of circus big tops from the Big Top Chautauqua in Bayfield on mainland, and old trailers with stuff written all over them. It’s an open-air bar and attracts everyone on the Island from Twin City billionaires to earthy folk. Around the 4th it’s the place to go. This was our third year performing there.

During the day a group of around 15 of us worked on a politically-charged float in a makeshift workshop built off the back of the bar with more big tops and tarps. We even had an outdoor kitchen out there. In past years a group of iron-forge folk would come and bang on anvils and have fire-twirling performances at night.

This year’s float theme was “WE’RE BUILDING A ROCKET SHIP TO FIND ANOTHER PLANET (as we’ve used this one up sort of thing)”. The Dirt Brothers and friends would be providing entertainment. Davey Schmidts, whose wedding we played, performed tonight with his band The Pie City Twisters. The Dirt Brothers went on last. It was surprising to see how many people not only remembered us, but had sort of legendarized us. At last year’s performance of our song “Move That Butt” in which we ask people to participate by offering themes places and things you can do with your butt a number of butts were revealed with one getting a thorough butt bongo session tapped-out while displaying on top of the bar. This night’s performance was no exception butts, bunny costumes, moving and gyrating, lots of excited, happy, and drunk people by show’s end.

July 3

An amalgamation of The Dirt Brothers called “Fire Eagle” with Davey Schmidts on second guitar and stripped-down kit drummer Sean perform at the end of the night. Turned out to be maybe the best sounding show of the tour with Adam called away from working on the rocket ship from the emanating “it’s on” vibes to jump up on stage and take over drum duties at the end.

Something was dialed just right that night. We hadn’t rehearsed whatsoever and although Davey and I had only played a few times in the past, I decided to throw them a bunch of new song ideas I had tried out. Davey’s a mind-bogglingly great follower on guitar. There was a lot of improvisation and vamps throughout songs along with the drummer playing half-time for the first half of songs and then realizing by way of my foot-stomping that the songs should be played double-time and then clicking in for the last half. People really got down.

July 4

This was the big one. From the decks of boats and on the beach, people were chanting “Dirt Brothers!” after the million-dollar firework display finished. The show and crowd were absolutely molten. There was no way we could go wrong that night and the music while at least one-quarter of it is always invented while playing was near perfect. By the end of these three days we had made decent change and gathered fuel for the rest of the haul.

July 7: Tobacco Warehouse, Viroqua, Wisconsin

Before the show I ask Joe, a good friend and organizer of the Viroqua Harvest Day Parade for whom this was a benefit for, if we could change locations from the cement floor warehouse to this little dirty elevator shaft area filled with metal containers of chemicals and forgotten janitor supplies from the 50s. He obliged and the show turned out sounding incredible. Small crowd, small town, but midway thru the set a nice sized gang of teens filed in through a weird side hall and proceeded to really get down. Ended up being a special night with good magic.

July 8: Off Minor, Dubuque, Iowa

A new bar opened by a past bandmate’s brother. Kind of a benefit to get the place started right. Good night, good people. Dubuque has a really nice little scene with super supportive and talented people. It’s also the first settlement west of the Mississippi- 1670-old river trading town. Lots of cool old buildings.

July 9: Barnstormers, Maquoketa, Iowa

This was the last night of the tour and an incredible one. It’s a big farm that every year hosts a couple thousand people music fest called Barnstormers. Well known bands from all over (usually on the Lollapalooza circuit) play in barns across the US.

We played the basement of the host’s house which is set up like a nice club/lounge. The hosts are so cool I now have some rad new friends. Ended up playing three sets (we had only ever played one in the past). In the wee hours of the night, it seemed everyone was definitely in the mood and we decided to hit it again. The second and third sets came out completely improvised except for the final song “Put the Lime in Maquoketa,” Nilson’s tune. Later that night we watched dawn while playing around the old abandoned farm house and barn.

This was a good and real tour. The kind you wish kept going. Looking forward to good rocking and fun in Bellingham.

The Cat From Hue, Us On Roofs head to Monterey and back

The Cat From Hue, Us On Roofs head to Monterey and back

After hectically preparing for a weeklong trip down the coast, we started down I5 towards Hood River, Oregon late in the morning on Saturday the 25th. This was our second time meandering down the West Coast and we brought along tour newbies Us On Roofs, who without a doubt are some of the best people to go on a road trip with. Our van was full to the brim; 8 people, camping gear, musical equipment (thank god we shared gear), clothes, food stuffs, books, Disney themed kick balls and two flats of energy drinks. This was easily a major improvement from our last tour, where we filled our van with 14 dudes intent on getting drunk and a trailer that included a couch so we could sit on the beach with it. Not that I would ever trade that first tour for any other experience, but you live and you learn.

Our first stop, Hood River, is always a great place to go. It was an easy first day of driving, and with the awesome view of Mt. Adams to the north and Mt. Hood looming in the south, it was also nothing short of eye candy on the road. We were able to camp right on the river and the tour started off with a camp trip feeling to it. We played in a spot called the Trillium Cafe, located downtown. The venue has always been great; it’s a smaller place where the crowd can easily converge around the bands and really get a buzz going. We had a solid turnout that danced and yelled with us for a couple of hours. We slept well next to the raging Hood River that night, and after a couple of us jumped into the icy mountain waters the next morning, we started our 12 hour drive to San Francisco.

As soon as we crossed into California early that evening though, we started getting restless. See, when we left for tour, we never really planned out where we would stop for the night after the first night, we figured we would just go with it…which usually works. However, this time, the boystincts kicked in and we found ourselves a bit over our heads. At about 8 PM we decided “Hey, let’s just hop over these here mountains on a forest road and get to Arcata on the coast and crash on some sand.” The drive from I5 to the coast was estimated at 2 hours, only 100 or so miles, we had no idea what was about to happen. We turned right into the mountains in a Podunk town called Etna, which is about the size Railroad on a slow night. After following our smart phones advice (which really wasn’t so smart), we ended up on a barely paved mountain road, climbing 45 degree angled switchbacks up a 3000 foot pass. We were tired and too committed to turn around, and before we knew it, it was 11pm and we were only 50 miles east of I5 on top of a snow covered mountain littered with all kinds of bears and deer. This is where it got iffy, we totally forgot that we had to somehow ease the van beast down the mountain, and the brakes on a 10,000 lb van do not like to get mashed on while going down giant hills. The next 2 hours consisted of us stopping on steep hills every 300 feet to let the breaks stop burning. At one point, we thought we had fried the van on a stupid decision to go to the beach. What was supposed to be a 2 to 3 hour drive turned into a 7 hour drive down 15 mph, cliff side roads in a van that had to squeeze through every tight, stomach wrenching turn.

After surviving that night and making it to our beloved Clam beach, we made it Kimo’s Penthouse in SF to play with our friends City Light, who relocated to SF just recently. After being cooped up in the van for most of the day, I immediately hit the bar with my free drink tickets and tried to forget about the hell we put the van through the previous night. The show was decent, but California hasn’t shown us too much love yet.

That night, we made the quick drive down to Monterey and the following day we adventured in and around Big Sur off of Highway 1. Throwing rocks off of 300 foot cliffs into the ocean and going into what seemed to be the world’s largest and cheapest liquor shop was the highlight of our Monterey stop. The town sucked that night, it was pissing down rain and we learned that it had terrible traffic. The venue, which had previously treated us well, had changed owners. After a cancellation scare, we learned the show was to go on, with a 50ish blind Swedish folk guitarist opening for us. It was awful. There was no one there, and the blind dude sang songs about the one girl he brought with him to the venue, which made the entire experience even more awkward. I used to recommend going to Monterey, but after stopping there this time, I go back on my recommendation. Unless there is a solid Friday night show panned out, the town is worth just driving through to get the view of the coast, and the mirror maze.

We mobbed back up to Medford the next day, where we learned that the town is a tweak haven, and bar owners there absolutely hate anyone under 21. After talking to the owner, showing him Oregon State Law, and basically begging just to play a couple songs, Johnny of Johnny B’s in Medford decidedly refused to allow anyone under 21 inside to perform, saying that he had never heard of anywhere else that had let underagers perform in bars. We fumed for awhile, took the loss and retired to our hotel room for the night. We also decided that Medford wasn’t the greatest tour spot either.

Our last show of the jaunt was at the Backspace Cafe in Portland with local PDX’ers Tigress and Grenada. Both bands were great and we ended up making a bunch of friends. The venue is awesome! Located next to the Someday lounge on 5th Ave, Backspace has a bar but is also all ages, is an art gallery, and hosts a variety of other artfully minded events throughout the week. The sound there was great and the friends we made there that night really helped us forget about our shit luck in Cali and southern Oregon.

I wouldn’t have traded this tour for anything else in the world either, even if we ran into some irritating obstacles. Each trip out of the state seems like an entirely new learning experience, and there really is nothing like performing for complete strangers hundreds of miles from home. We can’t wait to do it again in 6 weeks with our friends Candysound!

Bowlcut Tales from the Road

Bowlcut Tales from the Road

Bowlcut Tales from the Road

We set out from Bellingham the day after an amazing show at Jinx Artspace with Tearamanapart, Darto, and the Cat from Hue that doubled as Casey Nolan’s graduation party. What is usually the merch table at Jinx was instead covered in dozens of pizzas and various incredibly delicious cupcakes baked by Casey’s mom for all in attendance. Our 1991 Dodge cargo van rumbled into my driveway, where I was greeted by Casey, Nick Duncan, Aaron Apple, Hans Klein, and Evan Franz, who had just gotten his driver’s license and was incredibly stoked to be driving. While the Livingston guys had toured before, all of us in Bowlcut were giddy tour virgins.

We stopped twice on the way to Tacoma, first to pick up Charlie Powers, who was jumping around barefoot on a freeway on-ramp outside Everett, and then to pick up new drum heads at Guitar Center. We arrived at the aptly named Red Room, and Bowlcut played for a crowd of four, who awesomely pulled a couch right up to the front of the stage and sat comfortably through our set. Livingston played after us, with bassist Evan Anderson arriving by bus moments before they were set to go on.

Immediately after the show, we departed for San Jose in a van full of eight people and a band-and-a-half worth of gear crammed behind, under, and next to us. I was driving the first long night shift, and just a few hours in we had our first flat tire as we were rolling through Portland. We didn’t have a spare, and there are very few tire shops open at 3 a.m. in Portland. AAA towed us to a Les Schwab, blasting AC/DC the whole way, and a few of us went to grab a bucket of Voodoo doughnuts to make the wait a little easier. The guys at Les Schwab ended up being really cool and opened early to get us going by 8.

Ten hours later, we rolled into San Jose’s Hi-Jinx Co-Op. O Pioneers!!! and Spanish Gamble played awesome sets, and then Livingston played next, visibly surprising a number of fans with their unique drop C# tuned “stoner-pop/punk”. They were really well-received, and Bowlcut played pretty well too. The Pillowfights finished off the night with a really fun, tight set. Those who were of age hit the bars that night–I stayed in and changed the strings on my guitar. Rumor has it Aaron barfed on the sidewalk in front of the Adobe corporate headquarters. Party on, Wayne.

The next morning, we awoke to a strange phenomenon that we later learned was sunlight and warmth. Evan Franz somehow managed to get all of our equipment back into the van like a Tetris champion, and we went out to get some delicious vegan burritos. The rest of the day was spent at the beach and skate ramp before finally setting off for San Francisco, where we met up with ex-Bellinghamster and Most Gross Records co-founder Jenn Hartman (Council of Lions, Party Thighs) for dinner before the next show.

The SF show was certainly the most well attended and fun gig of the tour. Local group Crybaby opened, Livingston and Bowlcut played our tightest shows yet, Spanish Gamble showed why they get paid to play and we don’t, and local band Werr utilized awesome amounts of fire blowing. We retired back to Jenn’s house in Oakland afterward, where the sights and sounds of Blade Runner on Laserdisc put us to sleep. In the morning, we toured the record stores in Oakland and Berkeley.

The Oakland show took place at the Hellarity House, which certainly lived up to its name. We had to carry all of our gear up a two-story front stair case before playing a shaky set in a shakier house. The bathroom looked like a set-piece from the movie “Hostel.” San Francisco lo-fi shoegazers Tied to the Branches played an awesome, loud set that had most of the audience plugging their ears.

After the show, we immediately started driving back north towards Portland. We made it approximately 50 miles to Vacaville, California before I felt the van lurch under me and we were suddenly without the ability to shift gears. I was able to get the van off the freeway in first gear, and rolled into an empty Jack-in-the-Box parking lot, much to the delight of a few. After an hour of taking turns pretending we know stuff about engines, another pair of cars pulled into the parking lot and popped their hoods. One of them, named Abel, came over to us an immediately started poking around our engine. He told us that our fuel pump was broken and that it would be an $800 fix at any mechanic shop, then saying that he would be willing to do the fix for $100 at five in the morning if we wanted to go back to his place and crash there. We realized that we really didn’t have any other choice if we were to try and make the Portland show, so we followed Abel back to his place, which ended up being a small trailer park on the outskirts of town.

A few of us found sleep, and most spent the night trying to figure out what the hell we were thinking in coming here. I woke up around 6:45 to no sign of Abel. Around 8, he reappeared just long enough to remove our gas tank and ask for another $100 before disappearing again. A couple neighbors came by and asked us for various drugs (meth, etc). Around 10:30, Abel showed up again, reinstalled the tank, and sent us on our way. We made in approximately 10 miles down I-505 before the van lurched again and then died completely. Coasting to an exit, we pushed the van onto a desert road lined with animal carcasses and waited. Piecing together the past few hours, we realized that Abel hadn’t replaced anything, but simply taken out the broken part and put it back in a few hours later (confirmed by a later mechanic) before sending us on $200 poorer. Lesson learned.

We called a tow truck, which ended up being able to fit two people. Both Evans left with the van for Sacramento, the next closest city, leaving the rest of us to walk down the road to “Judy’s Wild Wrangler Saloon.” The bar and clientele looked straight out of No Country for Old Men, and a horse tied to a post greeted us at the door. Casey finally managed to get in touch with a friend, who came to our rescue after about four hours at the bar. He got us to Sacramento just in time for Casey, Aaron and I to hop on an overnight Greyhound back to Portland.

The rest of the guys eventually made it back as well, despite the van breaking down again in Redding. I had heard from a few people before leaving that touring was essentially a super-concentrated combination of the best and worst times of your life. After this little outing, I have to agree.

Despite the absurdly sour ending, we had an incredible time in the bay area, met some amazing people, and at this point, touring can really only get better, right?

The Fresh Trim Tour

It’s not every day that you get offered the chance to go on tour but it’s something as a performer you dream of doing. Touring is a true landmark in the time line of a musician, something that you get to claim as long as you live regardless of its size. So when Hashtronaut called me up and said he wanted me to come with him and cover his tour I jumped at the chance.Normally I am a photographer so the chance to write what I see along with capturing it was a dream opportunity. That being said there are a few details we miss when we dream up our grand tour as artists, like reality for instance. Why would I say that? Well let’s take a look at the tour outline. We left Bellingham to start the first of five shows in days days at The Rendezvous in Seattle which lead to the second thing one never thinks about when touring. Where do you park a school bus in downtown Seattle??? Fortunately with sound guy Adam at the helm we quickly found a lot to triple park and block some poor SUV into an end spot.

The Rendezvous was finishing up a drag show when we arrived so we killed a little time with Bellingham hip hopsters IG88 and The Knowgooders (Chance Random and Matt The Wolf) who showed up shortly after we did. After a little BSing we set up and the show started with IG88 rocking his unique brand of electro-progressive-hip hop that boggles the mind. After taking a few pictures during the beginning of his set I ran to get a beer at the bar and while I was there I noticed two locals sitting at the end looking like they were bored so I asked them if they were interested in hip hop at all. It didn’t take a lot of convincing to get them to the show and I never heard the end of the thanks the rest of the night.

All through Olympia locals Dub and Genders set the crowd and kept the energy high which was the perfect atmosphere for The Knowgooders to do their thing. Before Chance and Matt ever got to the stage there was a small improv set from a local street performer that caught everybody off guard and really rounded out a night of amazing music. Knowgooders were finally up to rock a set comprised of old tracks and a whole mess of new ones from their newest release Business Casual, a set worth every penny to say the least.

With everybody rocking flawless sets its time for the tour host Hashtronaut to shut down the show with his true to Bellingham’s hippie side lyrics and high energy delivery. Now as it’s true with any hip hop show there was a little cipher afterwards but looking on Youtube for Knowgooders will show you what happened there!

After a 3:30 a.m. Denny’s run we pushed on to Mike Dub of Dub and Genders’ house in Olympia to use as a base for the next two shows. This is where we learned a valuable lesson in booking shows for any tour: make sure the booker for the venue has a real calendar in front of them! An email from the Tacoma Cobra Lounge let us know that the show had to be rescheduled to a later date due to booking on Easter Sunday. Good thing that news rattled no cages on stage in Olympia when Bellingham’s own Haunted Authors and Stabbin Hobo as well as Northwest underground legend Smoke of Old Dominion joined the already stacked line up. With names in the line up like First Name Dave, IG88, The Knowgooders, Dub & Gender, and Hashtronaut the energy from the all ages crowd we packed into the Midnight Sun in downtown Olympia was off the charts. With only two shows left we knew they needed to be incredible so with an extra day of rest we made sure everything was polished and moved on to Seattle!

The last show before the drive home to the Ham is going to be one that will always be the hardest to top in my mind. With just 24 hours before the show I found out it would be a completely live show with no laptops or midi controllers or mixers, a live band would be providing every note. A truly rare chance to see a jazz band provide the instrumental for a hip hop set is not something that one gets to experience every day but first hand was something else. Not only was Lucid perfectly built for the band but the crowd was an age range you would never expect at a hip hop event. With the youngest couple being in their 30s it was a true surprise, but not as surprising as seeing them get up and start to dance to the music with Hashtronaut’s lyrics lacing the presentation.

The show went so well that even I was invited to the stage to perform some of my own lyrics but a word to the wise; practice is important! I spent the day of and before the show playing Black Ops so my track turned into a little freestyle but it was a great way to bring the away from home portion of the tour.

Finally home in the Ham after almost a week on the road sleeping on floors and couches, I spent 14 hours dead to the world recovering for the final show at The Glow Nightclub featuring Sleep of Old Dominion. Along with Bellingham locals this show was an amazing one to close the Fresh Trim Tour with. The turn out was great, all the sets were on point, and Sleep put on a show that will be talked about for quite a long time to come. To finish off his set Hashtronaut introduced tracks from his upcoming albums Acid Tone and Red Tide which included a very clever remake of the classic Wu-tang Clan track C.R.E.A.M (Cash Rules Everything Around Me).

I have to say that touring is not for the faint of heart, a commitment to what you are doing and believe is paramount or you will break down. For a young artist’s first tour The Fresh Trim was so well organized from the route to the places we were staying that it makes me see that the dreams are only as far out of reach as you make them. As a photographer there was never a dull moment both at shows and all the time in between that I literally took over 1,000 pictures of all the chaos. More happened than there is time to or words to explain, but going on tour is everybody’s dream and to finally experience it was something that will last a lifetime.

Good times during the West Coast tour. PHOTOS BY CHRIS FULLER

March 25

No big whoop. As in Lupe’s Mantra: “Sugs Tour 2011 No Big Whoop.” Funhouse in Seattle last night with The Molestations (from Oakland and with whom we’ll be staying down there), Tom Price Desert Classic (featuring erstwhile members of Gas Huffer and The Monkeywrench) and Thee Emergency. Standing as life-sized wax figures with folded arms and void of facial expressions, some members of the audience seemed either bored or angry.

March 28

Arrived in Arcata last night after spending the previous night in North Bend/Coos Bay. Overlooking the stage at Roger’s Zoo are some homemade puppets, a small excised tumor sits in a jar just out of view above the back bar and the door guy’s name is Teen Wolf. Good show for a place as out of the way as it is.

We followed the 101 down the coast, traveling through redwoods, stopping to admire the Pacific and ultimately landing at The Alibi for a bite and some beer. Then, after a few phone calls to old friends, we headed over to Eureka in hope of scoring some floor space for the night. Upon arrival at The Shanty, we needed our photo taken in front of its amazing neon sign, and as we were trying to figure out how to get all four of us in frame, out half-stumbles an obliging and impromptu photographer who asks that we call him Bobo, tells us of his own record label, relates his time spent as a roadie for Black Flag and describes his international renown as a professional Sasquatch tracker and caller. Being that he understands the touring life, he buys us a couple of rounds and offers his home on Samoa Island (just outside of Eureka) for the night. We spent the day in Arcata making merch and postering for the show next week in Eureka.

April 1

Those who came to the show at The Alibi without prior knowledge of the Sugs were pleasantly surprised at the least. As a couple of guys squabbled over which band the Sugs reminded them most of, another interjected with his own observance: “You guys remind me of pretty fucking awesome!”

The Hemlock in San Fran has a room separate from the bar for live music, but they insisted the show, a three-band bill, finish by 11:30, then made everybody leave the music room for the main barroom. We were out there early enough to hit up Dirty Thieves, which has an amazing assortment of whiskey varieties (who knew of Bulleit Rye?) and a gorgeous back bar but unfortunately is not a music venue.

We headed over the Oakland the next night for a house party show with The Molestations, which probably would’ve been better if they’d invited anybody else who didn’t already live in the house or date somebody there. It ended up being more akin to a joint practice session than a show.

In a great little all-ages space, the show in Santa Cruz last night was organized by the guitarist/vocalist for the headlining band, Indian Giver, who met the Sugs at the Cabin a few months ago. First up was The Terrible, a local psychedelic-rock band, then the L.A.-based Cactus Pricks continued stirring up the place before the Sugs became an instant hit. They will be heartily welcomed back.

We’re getting some beach time in Monterey and are due at the venue in a couple of hours. Tomorrow we drive for about nine hours to play a show with The Crying Shame somewhere near Joshua Tree. Shenanigans are sure to ensue.

April 3

Jose’s Underground Lounge is a small cantina in the basement of a Mexican restaurant. Three touring bands were on the bill, one of which was a Christian metal group. I don’t know if a worse show could be had: no audience except for the soundman, bartender and a few members of the two other bands.

We drove through the night from Monterey to Palm Springs (the Yakima of California) and spent the day at Myndie’s house (a former 3B bartender). It was hot. And dry. And windy. Fortunately, her place has a pool and a shaded patio.

Situated between a Marine Corps base and Joshua Tree National Park, The Palms is a roadside bar in the Wonder Valley about 15 minutes from Twentynine Palms, and in its gravel parking lot a sandwich board consisting of large-bulb Christmas lights advertises “LIVE MUSIC.” The local trio The Sibleys was gracious enough to play a short set in order to allow more time for the other two bands. Boasting a new album, The Crying Shame got the place a-hootin’ and a-hollarin’. The regulars and locals gave us the sense they don’t get a lotta live music ’round them parts. Though the Sugs attempted to subdue their volume, they were obviously much louder than what the crowd usually heard.

We’re at The Redwood in downtown LA tonight with Barrio Tiger. This bar has some fantastic maritime artwork (ships sailing stormy seas, mermaids, giant squid grappling clipper ship, more mermaids). Apparently one of the guitarists in Barrio Tiger hosted a Bloody Mary party all day…

April 5

Drove back to San Fran from LA today. The second LA show didn’t happen because of some sort of miscommunication (it’s always fun to arrive at a venue to have the employees state they aren’t aware of any show other than open-mic comedy night). Tonight’s San Fran show didn’t happen either, but we’re back at Dirty Thieves getting samples of the finer whiskeys backed with bottles of Schlitz. Driving back to Eureka tomorrow; should be worth it with all the postering last week.

April 8

At the Little Red Lion in Eureka, the Sugs played solo to a healthy attendance and got to play an extended set. We ended up staying at the house of the Don Wannabees, an Arcata punk band that was the show last week. We spent the next day driving to Portland for a show at Slabtown, which may have been the best show of the tour, despite a tequila-infused flub or two during the set and the drummer from The Pathogens slicing open his hand (requiring multiple stitches and weeks of healing).

April 11

The second Portland show fell through for various reasons, and then the Sugar Van’s battery died, causing it to spend the night across town. We installed a new battery the next afternoon and began the final leg of our journey with enough time to arrive home and relax before the tour-ending show at The Shakedown. But that turned out to be, in actuality, enough time to have the van towed on a flatbed all the way back to Bellingham after the electrical system failed on the outskirts of Centralia.

Freshly off the road, both Lozen and the Sugs played with an exhausted fury, the crowd guzzling it down and throwing the can on the stage. With the gear and the Sugar Store broken down, we retired to our own beds in our own homes with the combined sensations of relief, muted yet excited anticipation, and determination to improve upon this tour the next time out. It’ll be a blast.

Pirate Pirate Motorhome - Tales from the Road

Pirate Pirate Motorhome - Tales from the Road

The long cold winter months were a busy time for Pirate Pirate Motorhome. The last year was filled with writing new songs, recording an epic new album, playing shows, and dealing with life’s drama, so the members of the band were all equally eager to blast out of Bellingham and release themselves on the rest of the country. A two-week spring tour was planned meticulously, and culminated with the South-By-South-West (SXSW) festival in Austin.

An especially cold and windy morning kicked off the tour, and as our hands numbed loading gear, the more eager and excited we were to soak up some Texas sunshine. We bid our farewells to family and friends, then hit the interstate, our eyes wide open and looking forward to what was to come.

Our kick off show was at the Ash Street Saloon in Portland. It was a mediocre show for PPM, but we all bought Voodoo Donuts afterward. ‘Keep Portland Weird’.

The next night we played Liquid Lounge in Boise, in between two punk bands. Boise deserves special mention because of how unexpectedly amazing the music scene there was. We met a musician, Jimmy, and learned that he is a member of a group called the Pirate Punx, a group of punk musicians who go above and beyond to help out local acts and touring bands. After the show, Jimmy took us around town for drinks, then to his house for a home cooked meal. The band mates and Jimmy stayed up into the wee hours talking music, before Jimmy pulled out air mattresses for us all to sleep on. Simply said, I’ve never experienced such hospitality from anyone, least of all from a guy I only just met. If you’re in Boise and you meet Jimmy, be sure to buy him a drink… no one I know deserves it more. And if you ever want to learn more about Boise, just ask a member of PPM for a ‘Boise Handshake’.

Boise was such a high moment in the tour that it made the next few travel days seem all the more lackluster. We drove night and day across state border after state border. We stopped briefly in Roswell, NM, to investigate the paranormal. We were quite dismayed to find only a pitiful ‘museum’, with exhibits shellacked together with duct tape and cheap spray paint, as well as a motley cluster of even tackier alien-themed gift shops. We sped eastward…

Our patience was rewarded when we arrived in Austin. Soon we were thick in the midst of a teaming, swarming mass of 100,000 or so beautiful people all crammed onto 6th St. We found sidewalks and streets alike overfull with revelers simultaneously celebrating St. Patrick’s Day and the weeklong SXSW music festival. Finding parking, we dove into the midst and soaked up good tunes and booze. Live music poured from every open door and window until last call and beyond. That night we hardly slept.

Sleep deprived as we were, the action during SXSW starts early, so we headed into the fray again the next morning. We ended up at Buffalo Billiards, where PPM linked up with their brothers from another highly talented band, Rishloo. A staff member informed us that beer and well drinks were free on the second floor, so we all rushed the stairs. Everyone happily imbibed the free liquor and chatted away for what seemed like hours.It was a welcome break from the constant hustle that both bands had been through. Our roadie/artist Aaron also had a run-in with a celebrity. Literally. He swung open a door and hit a patron on the other side, and the patron turned out to be none other than Bam Margera. After much fun, and maybe one too many drinks (not for our driver, of course), PPM hit the highway to Houston, towards their next gig.

We arrived well after dark at Super Happy Fun Land in Houston. The scene was a shock to the system. At first, no one knew what to make of it. The inside and outside of the venue were painted in 1960′s counter culture d cor. Antique collectables, toys, and clothing were strewn everywhere. Various junk piled high along all the walls… one thousand words could not properly describe what I saw, so I will just say it was like an acid flashback that scares the hell out of you at first, but you slowly come down and grow more and more used to the insanity…

Denton, the next stop of the tour, was a much more subdued experience. It was like the Bellingham of Texas, with lots of old brick buildings, quirky little shops, and a genuine college-town feel. Andy’s Bar seemed very excited to have PPM play, and PPM returned the favor by delivering a groovin’ show that got the crowd movin’.

Dallas was another highlight of the tour. PPM was booked to an afternoon slot during an all day ‘Forget Austin’ festival at a chic venue called La Grange. Sweetening the deal was the fact that Rishloo was also taking the stage that evening. PPM played very well to a very enthusiastic crowd, and made several new fans. Rishloo delivered an equally awesome show. Afterwards, the two bands swapped stories over drinks, before wishing each other good luck with the rest of their respective tours. We then watched Horse the Band play at Club Dada, and got to meet briefly with those guys. Afterward, we loaded up for a long haul North, through the windswept plains, to finally arrive in Bozeman, Montana.

There, PPM played a great show at the Zebra Lounge, a cool, basement-level bar that is essentially a massive maze. It was a pleasure playing there and mixing it up with the crowd, staff, and a band appropriately named Medium Sized Monster.

The very next night, PPM played their last show at The Hop in Spokane. After that, we made a final, strung out dash for Bellingham… to resume lives more resembling normalcy.