Pooch-core
Suddenly everywhere is cold. Played another house show tonight. It was one of our better shows, but unlike SLC, the kids were much less generous and didn’t buy any of our stuff. But, why pay when you can get any album you want for free, right? Maybe we should start selling alcohol at shows. No ID required.
Fun sidenote: I had to sell stock to afford this tour.
TV Recyclry
The 10 hour drive from Spokane to SLC was a bit arduous, and had us all a little loopy for the show tonight. We played in a warehouse where a bunch of guys lived and used the space to recycle loads of old TVs. A wall of stacked televisions was a part of the stage decor, a clever idea that was eventually blocked out by our massive wall of amps.
After the show, the drummer from God’s Revolver got wasted and had us help him with a performance art piece which was really a bunch of collabortive scribbling that ended with lighter fluid and flames.
This is the point of the tour where my memory can only reach back 24 hours. I only know this when I have to write about the previous day because of the lack of wifi on the freeway.
This morning I woke up listening to my bandmates talk with a wandering British guy in the Wal-Mart parking lot. He gave a 10 minute stand-up comedian type rant about how his girlfriend gave him a black eye. It became clear that the whole thing was executed with intentions to get 80 cents out of us. It worked.
We drove across the street to a store to get food, and loitered in their parking lot for a good 30 minutes. As we were leaving, our middle-aged British friend showed up again. This time he begged Tommy if he could come into the van. We said we had to leave, but he pretended not to hear it. After about 15 minutes he got mad at me because he realized I had been recording the whole conversation. I thought we were going to die, while Tommy only thought he was about to get punched in the face.
Wingman
Tamara took us to a good coffee shop in Seattle, then we bailed to Spokane. We played another show with Ox at a bar called Cretin Hop with 2 local acoustic acts. Our heavy rock music went well with their extremely sentimental songs of great loss. It was another low-populated show where the only non-band people were girlfriends and a weird middle-aged woman in a cat costume.
The show ended at 11pm. We went to the nearest Wal-Mart to park our van and sleep for the night. Spokane people in Wal-Mart are noticably bizarre and strangely unsociable. The water must be bad here, for I again have begun to worry about the outcome of the human race.
Bellinghammit
To Bellingham today. About an hour drive. We played one of those shows where nobody was in the audience but the other bands and venue workers. The only paying people who came to watch the show were the parents of some teenage Green Day cover band with 15-year-olds who spent a good portion of the show staring down Me and Will. They sat in the back while we played, then climbed into their parents mini-van to go home and get ready for school in the morning.
Seattle Style
Today was a Coma Double-Dose for Seattle. First show was at The Comet, second was at Cafe Racer. I naturally expect every band from Seattle to sound like Nirvana or some kind of grunge project, and tonight I was proven correct… Except for X-Ray Press, who sounded like honors calculus with professor Satan. The first band that played was a 3-girl 1-dude band that was very grunge with a dose of cute-core. Don’t remember their name. (Teens in Heat…) But here’s a photo:
Teens In Heat
I always forget how strange it is that tour seems like a lifetime with all of the events that go on. These blog entries only include small parts. But today it feels like Arizona was a year ago.
We reunited with ex-coma keyboardist Tamara Romero (circa 2002-2004 era) since she lives in Seattle now. I also saw my old mate Chris Rogers who was one of the first of two guys I ever jammed with. I was on bass, he played guitar, Brandon on drums. We discussed rocking the lamest covers ever as 16-year-olds with our 15-watts amps, and how horrible, yet, amazing it was.
Can you see the humans?
With our next show scheduled a day away in Portland, more than 400 miles from where we started the day, we took some more sweet time moving along the coast. We found a good place to check out some huge redwoods. We found another camping spot, ate food, and burned our trash again.
It was a lot warmer sleeping next to the fire, at the cost of waking up with burn marks all over my stuff, holes in my blanket, etc.
Coma + Beach - Keyboardist = This
We had a show cancel on us, which means 3 days in a row of no playing. So, we made our way north to find a spot in the redwood forest to camp out for the night and found a spot next to the beach. It took us a good 20 minutes to get a fire going, each of us taking turns to successfully light the fire, fully exploiting our evolutionary urge to out-do the rest of the males. The moment I cursed Dustin for throwing my newspaper away (to use as fire fuel), he got the fire started. We cooked some food and decided to burn almost all of our trash from the van, including a bagful of uneaten marshmallows that melted into a pulsating pile of screaming-baby cream. With our mental state at the time, that seemed like a good way to describe it.
When the time came to sleep, I thought it would be a good idea to use my 55+ degree travel sleeping bag on the beach. I woke up around 5a.m., and saw that all of my stuff was soaked with ocean mist. So, I moved into the van, where Dustin had already been seasoning the trapped air with his mountain musk. At least it felt warm inside.
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