Oct 30, Boston

Oct 30.

I was up at 6:30 this morning. My body thought it was 7:30. I considered trying to sleep more but figured it wouldn’t happen. It was beautiful outside so I went running. We left DC around 9:30 and actually left Jeff’s house at 10:39, only 9 minutes after the agreed upon departure time. Apes! Back in Action! And this time, Jayme was with us, learning how to use her new video camera.

The weather was amazing. I drove till we got to Hartford, CT and gave up the wheel to Breck, mainly because I was feeling some nice knots forming in my butt muscles. I stopped at a rest stop and after we peed, I was leaning over a table, kicking my feet around (some weird attempt at a moving stretch?) and I look behind me, and there is Jayme, filming my butt stuck up in the air, kicking like a lunatic. We both start cackling.

When we get to Boston, we split up. Erick, Jayme, and Breck go get Chinese food. Jeff just leaves in his rushed nerdy walk, and I stand there alone in the dark for minute, thinking what I feel like doing. I’m not hungry. I don’t need anything. Time to wander. We are in a Russian neighborhood, so I go into some Russian groceries, Russian liquor stores, Russian clothing shops. Those imports are expensive! Last stop, Subway, for a salad. MMMmmmm….Betcha want some iceberg lettuce right now. Erick calls me moments later to do load-in.

After load-in, we set up the equipment on stage. Erick wants a sound check and I think he is trying to do it before The Slits arrive. We are still setting up when they walk in. Ari wants to go eat but I think the rest of The Slits are ready to sound check. I’m kind of embarrassed that we proceed with our sound check. Icky. When the Slits finally sound check, Ari goes to sleep on the bar.

After we finish, I go outside to call my grandfather. He is 88 and lives in an assisted living facility in South Florida. I am the only grandchild that calls him and it’s a real treat because he is deaf and I hate to shout. I go sit on some basement steps to make the call. It’s sort of out of the way of the club but people are still walking by as the shouting begins. He wants The Apes to record classic love songs from the 20’s and will often suggest marketing schemes. He also wants us to re-name ourselves, “The Apes, featuring Amanda Kleinman on organ”. He tells me this once a week. Then he complains about his depression, his aches and pains, his troubled girlfriend (he got the hottest chick in the facility to date him, rascal and all) and gives me the death report. There is at least one death to report every week. People in his age group drop like flies.

After that, he puts his cat on the phone and wants me to talk to him. I’m not kidding. So I’m sitting outside the club shouting, “Hi Damon! Hi kitty! Who’s a good kitty?” My grandfather refers to the cat as ‘pussy boy’ and also likes when I call him that. Just in case this is the last time we ever speak, I appease him.

I shout, “Hi Pussy Boy!”

There are 3 bands before us. I can’t find my ski mask. I improvise. We play. The set is solid—messy but solid. Good sounds and a great soundman.

The Slits play a long set. Ari does some solo free-stylin’ dancehall singing. It’s pretty awesome. The woman knows how to own a crowd.

There is one young guy who follows me around a great deal and asks me bizarre questions all night. When I am packing my gear at the end of the night, he gets so close to me, I can feel his body heat.

I keep saying, “Excuse me, can you give me some space?”

He says, “What college do you go to?”

I say, “I went to college a long time ago.”

He says, “Did you like it?”

I say, “I need to pack.”

“Did you learn a lot in college? Did you take piano lessons? Do you think I could learn how to play piano? Are you that girl from The Apes? Did I talk to you earlier?

This continues until I say firmly, “You need to go home.” He disappears.

We are staying at the dorms in M.I.T. Our friend, Fran, is in the doctoral program for Urban Planning and she is a Resident Assistant. We are very excited to sleep amongst such smart children.

Its not much sleep because we have to get up freaking early to do to NYC and start recording.

Erick and I battle about the futon. I win. I don’t sleep anyway and wander the dorms halls as soon as everyone falls asleep.

Saturday Oct 28

Since I had an extra special day at home, I thought I would relax a little, do some laundry, play outside, and basically do things you can’t do on the road. I started the day by doing massive edits on all of the postings from the tour so far. There were tons of grammatical errors and many poorly written sentences. I had written them quickly and didn’t re-read a single one. When I started re-reading, I was pretty embarrassed. They were a mess. I’m a teacher for the love of god! But I am one of those teachers that you remember as having a good time with, not one that you learn a heck of a lot from.

Anyway, I wrote for the majority of the morning. Then I got a haircut. This was the first haircut in 6 months. My hair was plenty disgusting because a ton had fallen out over the summer. I had lots of long layers that I never styled, so I basically looked like a trashy hick girl named, “Randy”, or something like that. All the stylists at the salon were wearing Halloween costumes. The men were all in drag. I don’t remember the ladies too specifically but every one of them was a slutty- something. Slutty cat, slutty Goldilocks, you get the idea. Sluts.

Before I had gotten the haircut, I had gone into an Ann Taylor store. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I was curious what normals were wearing this year. Yeesh! The clothes were pretty awful. Lots of ruffles. Only clowns should look like clowns. I tried on some sweater that had an open neck that went down to mid-stomach. I decided to ask for help. I opened the dressing room door and asked “Chenille”,
“Excuse me, I’m slightly retarded with clothes. What kind of shirt does when wear underneath garments such as these?”
She tried to not look too disturbed. “A camisole. Would you like me to bring you one to try on?” I said yes and she knocked on the dressing room door a few minutes later. She brought 3—two blacks, and a purple. I like the camisole a heck of a lot better than the ugly sweater. I bought the stupid camisole for $24.00. I have no idea why. It was soft. That’s why.

I went home, messed up my bedroom, and went to visit my friend, Kelly. We have been friends for about 13 years. She is married and lives in the neighborhood with her husband and two children. It was really nice to go see her and be in a house that looks like a home. She was cooking a real dinner and the kids were playing and I felt really weird for a few minutes. I won’t have this kind of life because I have the band, the van, the records, and the road. Some people make it work somehow but I’m not having much luck. Well, I’m not really trying to make that lifestyle either. When I come home from practice at 8:30 at night, after teaching all day, going to band practice, going to tutor, I’m wrecked. I can barely make a decent dinner for myself. Then I read some internet bullshit, or go for late night walks, or draw. It’s just a weird life.

Anyway, back to the day. Erick called while I was at Kelly’s. You would think that since we have two days off, we would chose to not see each other. He wanted me to go to Best Buy, because Jayme is buying a video camera. She is going to make a movie of us while we make the record next week.

We went to Best Buy, bought a camera, and went across the street to eat at Whole Foods. Some lady rammed Jayme with her cart when she came out of the bathroom so Jayme and Erick followed her and threw a used sani-wipe in her cart. Then we went and looked at all the Kombucha drinks. Kombucha is a tea made from fermented mushrooms (I think) and we have been kind of hooked on the stuff for a few weeks. The kind we buy has living strands of bacteria (probiotics!) floating around it. Every time Erick picks one out, he just shreaks excitedly at the size of his bacteria boogers. The other slightly odd detail about Kombucha is that because its fermented, it has a 0.5% alcohol content. I have a surgically altered digestive tract. When I consume it, I get buzzed. People that have intact digestive systems would not experience this reaction, but for me, it’s not much different from having a beer. Usually I drink the kombucha during the day, so I walk around doing normal things a little cross-eyed.

After we eat, we head over to the art opening at Transformer Gallery. Jayme was a co-founder of this really unique non-profit art gallery. We hung out there socializing for a while. Some old man started hitting on me and while he was trying to make a conversation, he was leaning against the wall, directly on the penciled artwork. He was totally clueless about what he was doing.

He asked me, “Are you a G.W. student?”

I said, “No, I’m old.”

He said, “Do you know the artist?”

I said, “No, I know the gallery owners.”

He said, “I’m learning to paint. I am photographer and now I’m learning to paint. I painted all afternoon. Soon, I will be selling my work.”

I said, “Oh.”

I saw several good friends, including Breck, Casey, Iona, Jen A., and Brent B. We were going to go back to Casey’s house but Erick literally started tantruming because he was hungry and he wanted free fancy food. He won. We went to a very fancy art party. The party was honoring a local woman who was leaving her gallery business to spend more time with her children. I was able to valet park my car for free! When we went to the front desk, the concierge found Erick and Jayme’s names on the guest list.

The lady asked, “Who is she”, and pointed to me.

They said, “She’s the driver, Its okay.”

The lady nodded and up we went. They weren’t lying.

The apartment where the party being held is absolutely beautiful. The man who owns it is an art collector and also has rare first edition books. Tonight, I held the first edition of Lolita, by Nabakov. I was told its worth $200,000.00. Luckily my nose wasn’t running.

Jayme was dressed appropriately for the event but Erick and I looked like shit. He was wearing his disgusting shredded camo sweat shirt and I had on pre-adolescent jeans with this stupid metal spike sticking out of the pocket. I had scored these from the lost and found at the middle school where I teach. I was also wearing this giant puffy artic parker and old green sneakers. I think the rich people just assume you are an artist if you look scummy. The party was catered and after we got food, Erick and I just sat on the floor. I couldn’t really hear most of the conversations because the ringing in my ears was deafening. The people-watching was supreme though. I couldn’t stop staring at this woman wearing tiger pants. She had the thickest layer of makeup I have seen in a long time. I named her cake face. During the speeches, she kept talking out loud at inappropriate times.

That party was wrapping up by 11:00 so we headed next to a more typical Halloween with people in costumes, drinking heavily. The drive over was actually more entertaining than the party itself. DC was hopping with normals in costumes. We saw Guns N Roses, slutty Dorothy, and a few chickens. Once we got to party number 2, we did not stay long. People were doing all sorts of things that we weren’t doing so it was a touch boring. Also, it blows my mind, how many dummies wear politically-oriented costumes because we are in DC. I saw a white house, a few proposed senate bills. There were probably a few congressmen that I didn’t recognize.

There was ONE more party back in our neighborhood to investigate. However, when we arrived, the house was quiet. Maybe it was a bad tip, or it ended very early. The highlight of that little trip was finding two bags of free clothes on someone’s stoop. Most were pretty bad but I scored a few things. Not surprisingly, I got another camisole. Every time I actually buy something, I find a free one of the same item, about 12 hours later.

No laundry. No exercise. No outside. No cooking. We may as well have been on tour. Eating out, drinking, and parties. I mostly just got drunk on Kombucha.

Erick reminded me of something funny from yesterday. When we were driving through all of the traffic in Delaware, Jeff looked at Breck and said, ”This traffic sucks therefore you suck.” Breck is from Delaware. The delivery was totally dead pan.

So now it’s almost 2 am and I am hoping that I will fall asleep and stay asleep. I usually don’t.

Rules for a decent show

There are a few things that all music venues should do to ensure that shows are good. There are also a few basic things that bands can do as well. I can assure you these are not original ideas, but I would like to Xerox them, and distribute them to music venues and bands across the world

When a band arrives at a club, college, church, community center, a human should greet them. Hopefully that human will provide them some basic information

They should say:

1) This is where you put your gear. It is a secure place.
2) This is the line-up of bands for tonight, and this is the approximate time you are playing.
3) This is your deal for food and drinks.
4) Here is your water.
5) You will get a quick line check/sound check at this time.
6) This is how much you are getting paid, as previously agreed upon, and this is the person who will pay you, at this time.

After that is all done, at some point BEFORE the show starts, the venue should have some kind of sound check or line check by a mildly intelligent person who knows sound. The PA should work. There should be enough cables, speakers, monitors, working microphones and microphone stands.

The soundperson should ask:

What does your band sound like? What do you need in the house mix? What do you want in your monitor mix? How many vocal microphones do you need? How many direct boxes?

Best case scenario, the soundperson knows how to implement the band’s requests, as long as they are reasonable.

There are a few more very simple, very important things that clubs should know:

Never book more than 3 bands for one evening. No matter what, having more than 3 bands on a bill will create an incredible amount of problems for set-times and equipment storage. It will never make the evening better to have more than 3 bands in any one night. The bands will argue about set order, and inevitably it never matters.

My personal selfish desire--- There should be one semi-clean, semi-private place for a person to change clothes. I wear a stage costume. It would be so nice if I didn’t have to stand in a long line of drunken people to change clothes in a freezing cold bathroom stall covered with urine, feces, or vomit. Call me greedy. Playing a show in pee-socks is never funny.

Now, I have been touring for 7 years and playing in bands for 15 years. I know musicians. They can be cool. They can be dicks. They can be healthy. They can be addicts. They can believe that their place in the world is far more important than those around them. They can also be totally level-headed people. It is certainly also the responsibility of the band to:

1) Be pleasant to every club employee
2) Have a few members stay sober enough to communicate and follow directions
3) Not be assholes

I swear that’s all you need for everyone to have a great evening.

Since I'm home, I thought I would tell you

There are a few things that all music venues should do to ensure that shows are good. There are also a few basic things that bands can do as well. I can assure you these are not original ideas, but I would like to Xerox them, and distribute them to music venues and bands across the world.

When a band arrives at a club, college, church, community center, a human should greet them. Hopefully that human will provide them some basic information.

They should say:

1) This is where you put your gear. It’s a secure place.
2) This is the line-up of bands for tonight, and this is the approximate time you are playing.
3) This is your deal for food and drinks.
4) Here is your water.
5) You will get a quick line check/sound check at this time.
6) This is how much you are getting paid, as previously agreed upon, and this is the person who will pay you, at this time.

After that is all done, at some point BEFORE the show starts, the venue should have some kind of sound check or line check by a mildly intelligent person who knows sound. The PA should work. There should be enough cables, speakers, monitors, working microphones and microphone stands.

The soundperson should ask:

What does your band sound like? What do you need in the house mix? What do you want in your monitor mix? How many vocal microphones do you need? How many direct boxes?

Best case scenario, the soundperson knows how to implement the band’s requests, as long as they are reasonable.

There are a few more very simple, very important things that clubs should know:

Never book more than 3 bands for one evening. No matter what, more than 3 bands will create an incredible amount of problems for set-times and equipment storage. It will never make the evening better to have more than 3 bands in any one night.

My personal selfish desire--- There should be one semi-clean, semi-private place for a person to change clothes. I wear a stage costume. It would be so nice if I didn’t have to stand in a long line of drunk people to change clothes in a freezing cold bathroom stall covered with urine, feces, or vomit. Call me greedy. Playing a show in pee-socks is never funny.

Now, I have been touring for 7 years and playing in bands for 15 years. I know musicians. They can be cool. They can be dicks. They can be addicts. They can believe that their place in the world is far more important than those around them. It is certainly also the responsibility of the band to:

1) Be pleasant to every club employee
2) Have a few members stay sober enough to communicate and follow directions
3) Not be assholes

I swear that’s all you need to have a good show for everyone.

No Canada

The last place I thought I would be on this rainy Friday night, is back in my bedroom in DC.

This morning at 8:00 am, Erick got a call from The Slits tour manager. They wanted to reschedule the Canadian shows. I had a feeling this might be coming, based on some comments made last night.

We were already awake. It is a 7 hour drive to the Buffalo border and then a few more hours to London, Ontario, so we needed to leave early. But now Erick was on the phone. He tried to convince several people to do the shows anyway. About 45 minutes later, he reported that The Slits were definitely going to reschedule. We could either try to go to NYC early and start recording, or just go home.

We called The Brothers Golanglobus. We are supposed to record with them next week during CMJ. Neither one answered their phone. We went to a diner in the village of Red Hook, after taking our host, Pilar, to work. For a lengthy period of time, we waited, hoping that the brothers would call us back. Another discussion point was the very little income we would actually bring home from this tour. This is not something new. Despite the money, its still kind of a honor to do these shows. This band, who is a real part of punk history, hasn't played together in 30 years. One of them dated a guy from the Clash. The drummer is the daughter of the drummer from The Sex Pistols. They are the real deal.

Aside from all that, around 11:30am, we drive to The Slits’ hotel to return their gear. They were extremely apologetic and we stood around the parking lot for a long time just shooting the shit. You always hope when you tour with another band, that you become something of a traveling family, and I could feel a little bit of that foundation developing while we were standing in this odd circle in the Quality Inn parking lot in Kingston, NY, on a beautiful fall day. They were headed back to NYC and it looked like we were going back to DC. According to Jeff's computer, our mega-brain, travel time to Gaithersburg, MD was about 5 hours, 32 minutes. Okay, so maybe a weekend home would be a good thing.

I started driving. First Erick had to pee. Stop number 1. On the New Jersey turnpike, there was a massive delay around exit 7, where the two sides of the turnpike, merge. That took a good 30 to 45 minutes. Next stop, more urine release and gas re-fill. The boys eat lunch and snacks. Apparently the three of them went to the bathroom together and Jeff used the “gripper machine”. This machine tests a man's grip strength, and I'm sure its a real indicator of his entire masculinity and breeding potential. Jeff learns he is champion gripper. Breck didn’t want to put his hands on anything that men were gripping immediately after toileting. I knew Breck was smart. I think we were there at least 30 minutes. Breck took over driving and by the time we hit Delaware, it was pouring rain. Traffic came to a halt and we sat, creeping along, for at least an hour.

Somewhere around Baltimore, we needed music. This journey was taking a ridiculous amount of time for the mileage we were covering. Breck started fooling with the radio, and magically, sound came out! We listened to some classic hip hop tunes and they totally raised our spirits. Then we listened to the craziest country song I have ever heard.

The singer said something like, “I am not a political man, but I know faith, hope, and love. Love is the most important of all. Where were you when the world turned around on Sept 11? Did you feel guilt because you survived? I might not know the difference between Iran and Iraq but I love my country.” Wow. I am not exaggerating. We were blown away. This is what Americans listen to. This is why the Apes will never, ever be a money-making phenomenon.

TBreck found a Christian radio show. There were actors portraying a family who lost a father. The mother’s new man was trying to get close to the son, too quickly. The son felt very uncomfotable and was turning to old videos of his real daddy's birthday parties, for comfort. His mom was confused. So-- they were going to go to the Odyssey, and the real solution was to pray about it. It was the weirdest program I have heard in a long time.

We arrived back at Jeff’s at 8:30 pm. Erick and I drove back to Mt. Pleasant and by the time I walked in, it was 9:30 pm. While we were driving back, Erick and I discussed how pleased we were with the two shows we’d already had and that this little break was just meant to be. We could eat some healthy foods and relax a little before our hell week, next week. Recording a record and playing shows every night didn’t seem like the best plan to me, but hey, we’ll figure it out.

So now, its 10:30 pm, and there is a party in my neighborhood. I’m totally wrecked but I imagine if I don’t go, and sit here alone in my giant empty group house, on a Friday night, I’ll feel worse. We should be playing right now.

I forgot to mention that Jeff was reading Conan, The Barbarian comics on his computer yesterday for a significant period of time. Sexy.

Several hours later- I went to the party. I'm home now. I just ate some food and took a sleeping pill. Its starting to kick in I'm losing focus as I write. I am going to try to publish all 3 diaries tonight. Slipping. This pill makes you really dizzy. Not cool. I'm a real asshole.

Bard babies

Bard, Baby:

So the rest of our time in Philadelphia looked like this.

We left Clark’s house and went to a coffee shop located next to a thrift store. This was the perfect opportunity for me to purchase some pajamas, as I’d forgotten to bring any. Breck and I hunted around and we each found a few decent things for not so much money. I bought some velvet striped pants that I will never wear.

We headed over to his sister’s house as she was going to take us to a music store. I had to get a new amp, new instrument cables, and maybe a new volume pedal, too. At least everything blew up before we hit Canada.

The first music store was a total bust. They had a few shitty practice amps. The woman behind the counter offered to call her husband to find out what else they might have in the basement. Erick walked out.

The next store was worse. They had no decent amps in our price range at all. The guy offered me some shitty practice amp for $200.00. Pass.

We left town and headed for the Jersey Turnpike. On the way, we stopped at gas station. Gas was only $1.99 a gallon! So exciting! Jesus. I saw a porta-john and Erick and I hopped out to pee. Erick went in first. There was a man of middle-eastern decent standing next to the outhouse, smoking a cigarette. He looked very relaxed.

“Are you two Amish?” he asked me.

“No, we are in a rock band,” I responded.

Wow. I have never gotten that one. Erick was wearing a camo-hooded sweatshirt. I was wearing a purple corduroy jacket. Can’t quite figure out the visual Amish connection. Maybe because we have the same dumb shaggy hair?

I started driving. The ride up the turnpike and into New York State was uneventful.

When we got off the highway, Erick started asking his usual dumb questions.

“Are we in the Poke Her Anus Mountains?” he asked me.

“No, dummy, the Pocono Mountains are in Pennsylvania. We are in the Catskills,” I informed him.

“Oh, comedy,” he connected. Then in some weird old man voice, he says, “Hey Buddy! Take my wife!” Err.

Change to present tense:

While I am driving, I fantasize that I am a passenger so I can pee in a cup. God I have to pee again. I hardly drank any fluids today.

We arrive at Bard shortly after. Colleges are awesome. We theorize that we could live at a college for free. We could just walk around, go to classes, steal food from all the cafeterias and dorms, and hook up with enough people to find places to sleep.

The space for the show is HUGE. Erick and I set up all of our equipment so we can try out the newest set-up. I am using a borrowed amp. It’s my dream amp, actually.

It is time to eat and we are playing in 90 minutes. Not enough time to digest, but we can get anything we want from the cafeteria. There is nothing I can eat. Surprise. I eat some turkey breast and mustard and try some of a bagel. I have 3 hard boiled eggs left in the van. I’ll eat those later.

The first two bands play. One I have seen before and a member is the tour manager for the Slits. They are pretty awesome. ShelShag.

Apes play next. The room is pretty packed. It’s the best college show space we have played in. I’m pretty psyched. I’m totally digging my costume now and after we line check, I put on my ski masks, set the vocal effect pedal, and start talking. I talk about ghosts and I deliver some very important messages that have been received. The crowd is totally into it and I feel it. Set time. We kill it. It’s awesome. I love my band again. Even Erick and I are getting along. I run back to the dressing room. Ari Up is sitting there with Holly, another Slit, and the show promoter. Ari is totally into my outfit and wants to take a bunch of pictures together. And now, its 11:30 pm, and Slits are playing and I’m wondering how 4 of us are going to cram onto the floor of some dorm room already occupied by two people. I’m feeling positive. There is a bathroom nearby and lots of clean water to drink.

I did not have to stand in urine today. Life is good.

Philly Nights

So we finally get on the road at about 3:30. There is no gas in the tank. We drive on country roads to pick up Route 95 North, just below Baltimore and skip the beltway completely. There are a few miles between us and the first gas station. About 5 miles away from home, we stop at the first station. There is some yellow murder scene tape blocking one part of the gas station. I think they must be re-paving so I pull in. Jeff hands me the band credit card. I get out and remove our gas cap (we finally got a new gas cap after we were informed it was missing by several hundred New Jersey full service gas station attendants).

Some feller says to me, “We ain’t got no gas. We are all out of gas.”

At the next country station, there is no credit card reader. Jeff goes in and does his magic. I pee for the millionth compulsive time. THIS IS THE LAST TOILET I WILL EVER SEE. MUST EXCRETE ANY DROPS OF REMAINING URINE FROM BLADDER. IF I HAVE TO PEE, I WILL BE BULLIED, HUMILIATED, AND PUNISHED BY THE GREAT SPIRIT OF ROCK AND ROLL.

When we are close to the Delaware border, Erick gets a phone call from the tour manager from the Slits. They are lost in New Jersey. The phone goes to Jeff. He switches his laptop from webpage editor, to essential mapping program, and resets them on the right roads. I don’t think he had pulled out the Conan comics that he’d downloaded yet.

After the phone call, Erick says, “See, Kleiny? You were worried about getting there on time for nothing.” I suspect that the Slits are only 15 minutes away from the venue though. No one bothers to tell them that we are at least 90 minutes away. Nobody cares. I probably shouldn’t either.

The rest of the drive is uneventful. I’m really tense and I have no idea why. I do know why. My set-up has become increasingly complex in the last few months. I now have two amplifiers, two keyboards, a mixer, 5 pedals, two direct boxes, an A/B box, and about 11 instrument, patch, and speaker cables. There are so many places things could go wrong. I am certain that something will go wrong. I suspect that very soon, on stage, during our set, I will be either faced with a dreadful silence, or some horrible screeching noise. I will have no idea where or why it is happening. It will take me 20 minutes to test every cord, patch, connection, amp, pedal, and keyboard. At minute 21, I will be murdered, by a band mate, of course.

The last 20 miles are stop and go traffic. We make comments about the buildings of Philadelphia as we drive into the city. We pass a brand new deluxe condominium building called, “Locust Park.” We pass a skyscraper that is flashing neon words that read, “Happy 50 Jerry.” The words flash one at a time. How much do you think someone paid for that? What if Jerry didn’t drive by that building today? How stupid would the word buyer feel?

I exit from the highway and a few minutes later, I pull up in front of the First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia. This church has been doing shows in the basement for years. Naturally, we have no idea where to park, where to load in, or how to even get in the Church. I just put on my hazards, and block a whole lane of traffic while I nervously search for ANYONE that knows what is going on. Erick just gets out and disappears.

I hear the honking. I can’t take it. I jump back in the van and drive around till I find the right alley and other band vans. There are at least 2 others already and the Slits haven’t arrived. This is a bad sign. At least 4 bands are playing tonight. Why, oh why, do promoters ever think this is good idea?

I find the appropriate parking area and do some crazy maneuver to park us on the sidewalk. We load our equipment down a flight of stairs, into the basement, and directly onto the stage. Shortly after, we meet Breck’s sister, Bianca. She suggests that we go eat at Mama vegetarian. That sounds sort of safe. Maybe.

It’s a falafel place. Not totally safe. I’m trying to be mellow about the food. I eat.

We go back to the church. The Slits have arrived. I meet a few of the girls and they are incredibly nice. This is a very good sign as we will be touring and sharing our equipment with them for the next 3 weeks. The Apes have never toured with an all-female band. The Slits are a legendary band. They started playing the mid 70’s and were part of the original punk rock phenomenon. This tour should be really interesting.

Erick helps everyone set up our amps since they are using our equipment. The little guy does have the capacity to be incredibly cool and helpful when he wants to be. He is a wizard with amplifiers, instruments, and sounds. If you tell him what you want, he can make it happen.

There are two local bands that play before us.

I try on my new costume. It’s tight, but it looks pretty good.

After the two local bands play, we set up. I warm up the audience with some quality talking, while wearing my ski mask and using the vocal effect box. I like to make myself sound like a pre-op transsexual person.


During the first song, I notice that my music sounds incredibly wrong. There are horrible noises coming from my amps. There are around 240 people in the church basement and my shit is dying. Two amps, two keyboards, two direct boxes, a mixer, and A/B box, 5 pedals, 11 chords. What could be wrong? Hmmm….My fantasy nightmare is coming true.

The rest of the show is fun but I am constantly yanking something out, trying to do direct to change my amplifier settings, trying different cords, bypassing pedals, bypassing the mixer. The sounds only get worse. One amp dies completely. This is okay. It is always okay.

We finish. The Slits go on. Erick helps them again because now they have to work around my dead amplifier. They are pretty great. Ari Up is very entertaining and the audience is really excited.

After the show, Erick and I begin testing everything. We find multiple cords that aren’t connecting. We confirm that my little Yamaha combo amp is in fact, dead. And most surprisingly, my volume pedal isn’t working either.

At least we are still in the Continental US.

After load out, we drive through multiple Philadelphia neighborhoods to arrive at the home of a guy named Clark. He is a friend of Breck’s sister. The house is very much a work in progress but three of us have a room and beds. I sleep from 3 am till 8 am. Not bad for me.

When I wake up, I see that Clark has a little bottle of Bach Flower Rescue Remedy. I put a little in a cup thinking this will be a great way to start the day. I will just sit and relax and wait for 4 hours for my band mates to get up. I would go outside but there is no way to not get locked out. I picture myself walking up and down the little street, sitting on people’s steps, trying to find a free, unsecured- wireless internet connection. Actually, I already tried last night. It didn’t work and I got locked out.

I drink my Bach Flower crap. ACCHH! What the hell is this shit? I look at the bottle again. It is wart Remover.

Nice.

Around noon, I hear the shower.

I forgot to mention that the bathroom in this house is just a big open room on the second floor. There is no door. It’s attached to our host’s bedroom and if you walk up and down the staircase, you walk right through it. I figure this will be the one morning my body wants to excrete feces. I am correct. And of course, it doesn’t go down.

In the refrigerator, I find 1 case of beer, a few potatoes with roots growing, and some pasta sauce. On the window sills, there are lots of whiskeys.

Today we will go to Bard College in upstate New York.

I love New York.

late like a period

Well its that time again. We were supposed to be on the road at 2:30. Our first show is in Philadelphia and since the Slits are using are equipment, we truly need to be at the club by 5:00 pm. I know they will want to have plenty of time to set up tonight so they can fool with our amps and all of that.

When Erick and I arrived at Jeff's, we learned that he HADN'T replaced the hinges on the old wooden security door of the inside of the van. The original wooden box that was built several years ago (thanks SDM) is rotting in critical places. I think the ply wood was originally stolen from a construction site or just lifted out of rock creek park. I know it was wet for a very long time.

So we get here. Breck isn't here. The hinges aren't started. Jeff still has to pack his drums. Erick and Jeff begin fooling with screwdrivers and drills and saws. 40 minutes later, they are still going at it. Breck isn't here either. I'd say that someone else should call the club or call the slits to explain why we will be hideously late to the first show. But no one else is going to do it. I'll be driving in traffic on 95, too. Awesome. Great to start off on the right foot.

I decided instead of sitting around worrying, that I would write, which is what my fool bandmates want me to do all the time anyway. The funny part about typing right now is the insane burning pain in my right hand that is radiating up my arm. I'm sure with enough painkillers, I won't feel a thing. I love playing the organs with numb paws.

I got some dumb white overalls for my new costume. They are really tight. Erick picked them out. We are all sporting some sort of new white costume. I wonder how long it will last. I can't imagine they won't be filthy in two days, with the way we sweat when we play.

I am bringing far less bullshit than EVER before. I have decided I'm not even bringing my therma-rest camping pad into the houses we stay in. If I have to sleep on a wood floor, then I'm sleeping on the wood floor. No stupid blow-up pad in the middle. Or I might try sleeping in the van.

Its almost 3:30. HeyZoos Christe.

Its that time

pittsburgh warm up
We played the Unicorn Mountain show in Pittsburgh this past Saturday night. Unicorn Mountain is an awesome art/music magazine based in Pittsburgh. Their second edition came out over the summer (I had done a few illustrations for an article written by Kid Millions of Oneida). It looks fantastic and has a great compiliation CD that comes with it.

www.unicornmountain.com

So we leave ridiculously late. I think we actually drove away at 4:00 pm. Breck was at the wheel, so I could eat my breakfast/lunch. I actually fell asleep for a few minutes. I had slept around 3 hours Thursday night and 3 hours Friday and was totally wrecked.

I woke up when I heard the words, "Is this the right road? It doesn't look right?"

Jesus Freaking Jesus.

We have been to Pittsburgh about 10 times in the last few years. Somehow, not one of my bandmates could figure out that Route 70 West takes us to Breezewood every time we drive. We were about 20 miles down Rt 15 before anyone thought there was a problem.

We took a lovely side road to return to 70 and passed Catoctin Mountain State Park. I was wondering if they could leave me there. That would have been nice. So many pretty yellow leaves.

Erick had to piss. Bad. We pulled over and he peed in a giant open farm field. Ha ha.

We got to Pittsburgh around 8:30 and were playing by 9:00. Apparently Black Moth Super Rainbow, from Pittsburgh, had a manager who bullied the guy running the show. He INSISTED that they play next to Zombi for some reason. Like the show mattered. Like playing next to Zombi would get them somewhere. Another ha ha.

Playing the new songs was actually a total blast. Thank GOD my two keyboard set-up worked. Two keyboards, new pedal board, new mixer, new splitter, and about 15 chords...some many places that things could go wrong. I pictured Erick actually exploding if something didn't work. Crisis averted when the sounds emerged appropriately. (I can guarantee at least once on this tour, I will not be able to figure out where the silence is coming from). I started the set reading a poem from ghosts. I don't think people listened. Do tap in next time. There is wisdom in those words.

Our set was over quick and I was fucking deaf. We hung out for the rest of the show and afterward, went to Paul Quattrone's (Modey Lemon) house for Mexican food. I actually ate some and felt sicker than shit. I had planned on partying till 5 am and was laying on Paul's couch by 2:00 am. Last time I try to eat Farmer Cheese at 1:00 am. The highlight of the night was Kirker was out of his freaking mind. I love displays of PASSION! Good to see Anders as well. And always, always, good to see Phil and the rest of the Pittsburgh crew.

So we leave in a day and a half. I haven't taken care of ANYTHING. I have a job to quit. I have bills to pay. Laundry. All sorts of lame pre-tour crap. Haven't done ANYTHING.

Whatever.

It was a mellow Sunday and a mellow drive home.