December 10, 2003
Of Tiny Tours and Giant Fevers: Upon completion of Operation Massive Event wherein we fully conquered the entire United Kingdom as enthusiastic support to The Flaming Lips
With Derek, DRUMWOLF, and countless millions of influenza viroids in tow, I set out to sample some of the smaller venues of the Northeast.
Mentally and physically drained from the unrelenting pace of Norman, Oklahoma (where I have rehearsed many times before) I asked DRUMWOLF and Derek to drive across the great Midwest and join me for a bit of rehearsal in Brooklyn. They did.
We rehearsed here.
Something smaller than a bear but larger than a mouse died under the floor. At night rats ran across the pipes overhead.
Nonetheless, it was scant blocks from my house and directly across the street from my favorite restaraunt. We liked it very much and it suited our needs well.
DRUMWOLF arrived with the flu- visibly shaking and nearly unable to speak.
If you were to magnify DRUMWOLF'S face 150,000 times it would look like this:
Derek noted that he too felt... symptomatic.
I VOWED NOT TO FALL ILL.
It became clear that my personnel were in no shape to conquer small clubs in Massachusetts and Pennsylvania. What to do? DRUMWOLF was ill and the tour was hanging in the balance. Having no time for traditional medicine, a Spirit Guide was quickly summoned. (In addition to dramatic views and compelling architecture, Brooklyn boasts 24 hour shamanism! Come! See! Gooooood Fooood!)
After a dinner of hallucinogenic roots and a full night of leaching, DRUMWOLF once again took up his sticks to play the Thundering Drums Of Rock and Roll.
Derek remained silent and frail.
Enter the energetic and wonderful Jessica, who would be selling the merchandise on our tour. Jessica is an old friend of DRUMWOLF's, and the two were clearly delighted with their reunion.
David Miller was next to join our cabal. Himself an accomplished musician, Dave was really doing us a favor by running our video projector. Word.
So off we went. We drove to Philadelphia, whence I hail. We played at The North Star Bar, which is in an Amish family's apple cellar (see below). At our behest, Hamish, the club's owner, kindly greased the water wheel with extra lard so that we could have sufficient power to turn up our "yelling boxes" all the way. Loudness was shared.
I knew many, many people at this show. It was like a family reunion.
Giddy and a little self-conscious, I felt as though I was showing my mom my new skateboard.
I know 74% of these humans.
We were preceded by a bad called BE CAREFUL LITTLE HANDS. They were really really good. I listened to their cd for the rest of the tour. I listen to it even now as I misspell. Google them. See them.
Off then to Northampton, Mass. The town was cozy and one would not be surprised to find Hobbits smoking pipes in its doorways. In fact, DRUMWOLF encountered one such Hobbit and was heard exclaiming, "Damn kid! Where'd you get them hairy assed feets?!" The Hobbit, who introduced himself in a Dutch accent as Cokie Strongbow, seemed to recognize Derek and invited us all for mashed peas and ale. We politely declined and set up for the show.
Derek remained silent and frail.
I coughed up something green and much too big. I renewed my vow NOT TO FALL ILL.
The band played and played. I gained weight, lost further hair, and sang in multiple keys.
Off then to Boston, where I was scheduled to be interviewed at 8 am on an Emerson College radio program. It took me nearly ninety minutes to get there from our luxury accommodation in Guam. You see, in Boston there is an issue with traffic because the local government is apparently strip-mining for coal in the middle of the city. This angered me, because everyone knows that fossil fuels are not renewable energy sources.
I arrived, woozy (but NOT SICK. I DID NOT EVER REALLY GET SICK) and in foul mood. Luckily, the hosts of the show were adorable-liberal-brainy-indie-rock- cheerleaders. I liked them very much and they showed me Boston Harbor. Thanks, y'all.
In Boston we opened for Wheat, with whom I share a manager. They sounded pretty fantastic live and were "not bummed out" to see a crowd at their show. Merrily, we played.
It was after this show, during Wheat's set, and after many strange cocktails of over-the-counter cold and flu remedies both pill and green liquid, THAT DEREK FINALLY SPOKE.
"Uuurgf", he spake unto us all, "Uuurffnurgh."
Uuurffnurgh indeed.
Derek, below, experimenting with Green Death Nyquil.
Just then we heard, via Hobbit lore, that a very large snow was nigh. This made us nervous, as we had to drive all up in that piece. DRUMWOLF attempted to appease the Cloud Spirits by performing the sacred "Diggy Dawng" dance.
It snowed nonetheless. It snowed mightily. It snowed and it snowed and it snowed, mostly on our vehicles.
After seven and one half hours of white knuckled fear, we arrived back in Brooklyn to find that the scheduled opening acts had all cancelled. The club owners were hoping that we too would throw in the towel.
THROW IN THE TOWEL??
"Fie!" I cried.
"F--K THAT SH-T!" yelled DRUMWOLF, fist in the air.
"Uurrglfff!" said Derek, and coughed into his scarf.
We would play.
Save a few whoop ass die-hard fans (five?) no one came out into the blizzard to see us sing about microscopes and heartache. Well, no one except my most wonderful friends. My truly supportive and fantastic friends of whom I am entirely undeserving. My patient friends who are so sick of these songs but came out to hear them, again, anyway. It was really wonderful to see you there, in the snow, in that bar, in Park Slope, at the end of that very short, very sick tour.
We took the stage and played with our whole hearts, and also with our arms and fingers.
And, in the end, I DID get sick. I developed a parasitic twin.