Remember when gas was still expensive— that is if you were lucky enough to find it? Well, those of us who make our money traveling remember it well. We left town in the middle of the ever-lengthening fuel shortages to drive to Asheville where we had local friends confirm for us there was NO gas. Luckily, I had filled up the van a week earlier when we were sure “it would all be over in a week.” We sat in arriving football traffic in Athens, we sat in a gas line in Greenville, SC where we topped up, and then we got lost in detours when we got to Asheville. We got to the Grey Eagle with no time to spare, soundchecked, and played for a growing and enthusiastic crowd. We watched Town Mountain, a local bluegrass band plow through their CD release set and then went to go sleep at a friend’s house.
Saturday, Sept 27
We got up alone in Asheville and drove to Farragut, TN for two sets at a Bluegrass Festival held on the grounds of Union Cumberland Presbyterian Church. We arrived shortly before playing a set of old-fashioned numbers and gospel songs to a blank-faced, seemingly emotionless crowd of mostly older folks. After we came off stage, we were blessed repeatedly and were told various stories about blessings which had previously been declared and which had made the success of today’s event a foregone conclusion. Most interestingly, we were told how one of the congregation had led a group of church members in a march around the festival grounds several days before, all the while praying and asking for blessings for the site against all impediments, most particularly bad weather. It worked. All the storm clouds stayed in the distance. We ate roast chicken, BBQ, tamales, and I bought an extremely overrated, very salty homemade strawberry fried pie. We watched a couple of the other bands: two very average bluegrass bands and an extremely enthusiastic, college-age Southern Gospel band. The latter were exactly what you would expect. I liked them alot, even their Yamaha electronic drum kit. Fantastic piano player.
As we left the festival, the show we were scheduled to play that night in Chattanooga had still not been officially confirmed. Those who do not travel with a touring band would never believe how often this happens. We were originally booked to play a venue in a tattoo parlor, but had received in this order 1) an email on September 21 from the venue saying that they were closing forever and would not be able to have our show, 2) an email on September 25 from the promoter saying that the show was cancelled and that he could “maybe” get us a lower-paying show at a club connected to a liquor store called Ziggy’s, and then 3) Nothing at all from anybody to let us know anything about whether this Ziggy’s show was going to happen.
So with no alternative, we looked up the venue ourselves and called them. Naturally, they had not heard anything about our playing a show that night and had heard nothing from the promoter, but because we were playing Rock City the next night, we thought we might as well head down to Ziggy’s and see if we could make something happen. After driving in circles, we found the venue. First we found Ziggy’s liquor store, and then the connected bar to its left. We went in to find a few people watching football on a large grainy TV set. They were sitting almost entirely in the dark and none seemed amused at our arrival. We were then shown into the back room where they hold shows. It was a concrete box about half the size of the Caledonia in Athens with posters, stickers and graffiti for metal and hardcore punk bands only. An extremely large man (Ziggy) in the liquor store assured us that we could play if we wanted, but that they honestly didn’t think anybody would come. Fair enough. After some discussion, we left and went to a hotel closer to Rock City.
To feel better about not playing that night, we agreed to practice, which we did in the parking lot between our hotel and the Cracker Barrel. A couple cars came by and stopped to listen. Josh and I went running and received the expected amount of local “Run Forrest, Run” hollering. Right before going to bed, Josh saw a TV ad for the Krystal’s Official World Hamburger Eating Championship to be held the next day on the Chattanooga Riverfront, perfectly scheduled between our check-out time and our check-in at Rock City. It seemed too perfect to ignore.
Sunday Sept 28
We got up and did a combination of running, swimming and nothing then headed into Chattanooga for the eating contest. We parked on the far bank and walked across the river bridge. On our way over, we could see the contest grounds and we knew we were doing the right thing. We watched from about 25 yards as the amateurs and then eventually the world experts (Joey Chestnut, Takeru Kobayashi, etc) dipped Krystal Burgers in water (one used an unidentified red liquid) and crammed as many dripping burgers down as possible in the allotted 8 minutes. Joey Chestnut won by eating a staggering 93 burgers. The highlight of the event, however, was the emcee. I think our band always worries too much that gay jokes, gallows humor, and religious satire are too much for a wide audience. But this guy had built his entire performance on a foundation of these inspirations. He proclaimed that all of our ancestors stood on the banks of time observing this momentous event, and that this competition was not unlike the famed eating contest in which God defeated (or would defeat) Satan. His delivery was perfect, and the crowd loved it; the band learned a few lessons at this event, for sure. We loaded back in the van and headed to Rock City— in particular, the Rock City Corn Maze where we were to play a “concert.” We showed up to a massive, empty parking lot and a field of drought-dry corn, just barely tall enough for a maze. We announced ourselves and were given food: hot dogs and nachos a la Beavis and Butthead. We availed ourselves of the hour before we were scheduled to play and took a shot at the corn maze. After some difficulty with the phase I (easy half) of the corn maze, we retaliated with possibly the record time in phase II: 12:59, and not one second more. We heard that a group of kids had claimed to have done phase two in 15 minutes, but had been suspected of cheating because their time was so fast. Such is the power of the Packway Handle Band.
Despite this victory, we played our sets to an audience of about 10. We left and drove to our hotel in Nashville to get ready for our upcoming showcases, which we found after the customary circling around.
Monday, Sept 29
With nowhere to go until evening, we got up extremely late and visited the nearby Krystal to gorge ourselves on the horrible little burgers we saw so many of consumed the day before. Then it was off to see Dave Higgins at the Nashville Public Radio who had written a very favorable review of us in Bluegrass Now magazine. He seemed to really like us a lot— so much, in fact, that it made us question his judgement. He asked a lot of questions trying to get us to open up about some of our more outlandish moments on stage and insisted that we play some of our edgier stuff. We went back to the hotel, put on our suits and headed down to the Nashville Convention Center to play a couple IBMA (International Bluegrass Music Association) showcases. We saw a whole host of bluegrass folks who we have crossed paths with in the past. Todd Livingston from Hit & Run, Mark Shimick who plays with Larry Keel, Anders Beck, the dobro player from Greensky Bluegrass, Annie from Town Mountain, and the Burnett Family were a few of them. I did not recognize the fiddle player from Uncle Earl and am told that I made some generally horrible comment in her direct vicinity. The Bluegrass Association of Maine showcase went fairly well, and apparently the woman who books Grey Fox was present and seemed interested (though we never heard anything from them at any point afterwards). We played the last late-night Virginia Night-Owl showcase which was almost not attended. One poor woman got caught in there as the last few audience members left. Being the last soul, she was forced by her sense of decency to stay until the end. I wonder if she ended up liking us…
Tuesday, Sept 30
We woke up late again and ate more nasty food. Some of us ran, swam, watched TV and ate more nasty food. We eventually got our act together and headed down to the convention center for our Deering Banjo showcase. We got in to see the Kruger Brothers soundchecking on stage and chatted with them for a few minutes about their touring, etc. Then we warmed up, played our showcase, including Earl the Duck, to an amused and interested audience. This seemed to be useful. We talked to the Burnett Family and they described how their home-schooled children were now all graduated and still at home. Eventually we headed up to the parties on the 18th and 20th floors where we met Town Mountain and discussed how they (like us) had just broken up with Hello booking. Then I headed out into the hall to an old-time jam with Mark Schimick, a girl named Odessa and the guitar player from the Frieghthoppers (on fiddle). Insane old-time. The rest of the band headed up to 20th floor to bluegrass jams with Steep Canyon Rangers, Town Mountain, Michael from Dappled Grays and many others until 4 am. Zach sat in the van from 12 to 4 am.
Wednesday, Oct 1
We woke up in the Nashville Howard Johnson for the last time (thank God), wandered in the parking lot on the phone looking at scenes of urban decay, and ate a horrible continental breakfast and loaded the van. We drove straight to Kansas City, with almost the entire band sleeping the whole way. We arrived at the Trouser Mouse just at the right time. The owner/promoter is one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. He got us hotel rooms, great food (best French Dip I’ve had), and then we played for the same 15 person crowd we played for last time we were there. Glad to be done with that one. We headed back to the hotel room. Tom and I went to the hot-tub to discuss band booking strategy before bed.
Thursday, Oct 2
Another long-drive day. We checked out of hotel at 11 then went to a gas station for cheap gas, and realized that our back right tire was down to threads on inside. We switched that out with the spare, ate some cheap(ish) Mexican food and then headed out on the road. We just drove and slept until dark then watched Dexter episodes for about 3 hours. We showed up at our friend Jeanine’s house in Boulder and stayed up drinking, bullshitting and smoking out of a hookah. The highlight of the day was watching “The Great Happiness Space” a movie about Japanese “hosts:” Young Elven-looking Japanese guys who have a “hosting” company which serves young Japanese girls who are seeking companionship. About three quarters of the way through the movie you find out that most of the girls are prostitutes who seek out the hosts in order to feel some sense of “love” in their life. This may have been one of the best movies I’ve ever seen.
Friday, Oct 3
The anchor date: Today we woke up late, did laundry, ate lunch, etc. and headed up to Lyons, CO for the Planet Bluegrass Wildflower Pavilion Concert Series. We showed up for our 3rd ever time on those festival grounds, and found a bunch of stones balanced artistically and precariously on one another in the stream. We did our soundcheck and were given a “steak dinner” by Planet Bluegrass that was phenomenal: mushroom cuscus, steak, broccoli (we found out later this came out of our pay). We warmed up while opening band “Riverbend” played their set. We played our set to a nearly sold out, increasingly enthusiastic, rollicking crowd. It was a very good show and we were told that we had the record for walk-up tickets. After the show, I put all the backstage snacks in my bag and left. I would later pay a price for that.
Saturday, Oct 4
I woke up and got ready to run, but was then distracted by the phone. By the time I got to running the band had scattered various places— some to a farmer’s market. When I got back everybody was there waiting for me. I had to shower and get packed in about 10 minutes and then it was off to our friends’ wedding at the Wildflower Pavilion again. Like usual, after all the panic, we arrived early and waited a while before playing the ceremony. The ceremony music, like usual, was stiff and riddled with mistakes. We waited and waited for the reception, played our first set, then took a break before playing the second set. Eventually, the place really did come unglued and we couldn’t get out of there until after two encores. Several locals insisted vehemently that there was to be a “bluegrass jam” on the corner of “Reese and 4th,” that we absolutely MUST go to. Apparently, a girl from Uncle Earl and members of Open Road “would be there.”
We kept our suits on, circled the small town until we found the address, peeked around the corner, and though we saw no instruments, we saw a very small fire and some folks hanging out. We risked it, and headed in. Turns out this was not any description of a music party, jam or anything like it, but mostly a group of ex-Peace Corps volunteers getting together for old-time’s sake. It was somewhat interesting that one of them knew a mutual friend in Athens, but we realized soon that we had to get out of there and so we did. We were still waiting to hear from our host for that night, so we stopped at Oskar Blues (the home of Dale’s Pale Ale) to talk to the soundman, Dave McIntyre, who had offered to buy us beers if we would stop by. Our host for the night (not Japanese “Host”) arrived with a friend and I came out to the van to write this. Josh and Tom seemed to be caught in some sort of social networking black hole and I slowly extracted them using a package of my famous conversation-crushing techniques.
Sunday, Oct 5
We woke up late again and drove down to Colorado Springs to the Front Range Barbeque venue, almost running out of gas because we simply couldn’t find any stations— buildings everywhere, but no gas. We got into a vicious argument in the van about the snacks that I took from the Wildflower Pavilion and whether they were mine for taking them or the band’s because they were originally offered to all of us. My point is that if I had not grabbed them, they would have been left there like so many other things in the past. Others argued with a blistering venom and apocalyptic rage that they would have certainly taken their share before they left and that I had abused the commons. Things somehow settled down without a definite resolution and we finally got to Colorado Springs. However, we were worried that we were going to be rained out (outdoor venue). Like usual, the food was incredible, and drinks, etc. given freely. Opening band “Grass it Up,” played about an hour. They had gotten better. We got up on stage to a smaller crowd than we had during the summer, but by the end of the first set the place was packed. By the end of the night madness had descended on the enthusiastic crowd. The party overflowed to a vacant, just-flipped house where we would spend the night. The owner of the BBQ venue bought, stole or otherwise obtained a keg of Abbey, a Belgian blend of beer from New Belgian Brewery. We proceeded to get very, very drunk. There were keg stands, wrestling, and a lot of shouting.
Monday, Oct 6
We drove all day, discussed Mastadons on the Front Range, ate leftover BBQ, and eventually arrived in Amarillo for a house concert. We saw some folks we had met in previous trips through town and played 2 outdoor sets for them and 50-70 other completely enthusiastic people. I think that they probably made up the majority of the music scene. A big problem was that at least two of us (including me) were deeply hung over from the night before. Despite this, we got talked into a final acoustic set inside. After about 4 songs, there was sudden activity and confusion. We looked over to see cops inside, having walked in without knocking (apparently). “Discussions” ensued between the owner (and guests) and the cops. The cops took several steps that seemed unwarranted and illegal, and after incessant circular arguments among the various quarrelling parties, things seemed destined for badness. Eventually we had to vacate the house and the homeowner was carted off to jail. We drove to another house where we were staying. There we heard endless discussion, threats and drunken declarations about how various lawyers were going to get the cops fired, how there would be a settlement costing the police department millions, etc., etc. Our response was to watch some Dexter on DVD. For the record, these people paid us with a check that bounced and we have yet to be paid for this show. With the check-bounce fee, we netted $-5 for that show. And when did banks start charging you a fee for cashing a bad check?
Tues, Oct 7
We drove all day, watched 5 episodes of Dexter to recover from the Sunday and Monday parties. Thankfully Zach’s girlfriend had a hotel in Dallas where we stayed and watched TV.
Wed, Oct 8
We woke up, dodged construction all day at the hotel. There was running, swimming and more TV. We drove across town to our Dallas venue, the Lakewood Bar & Grill, which was vaguely ok. We met the promoter, accidentally bought 10 jack-in-the-box tacos, ate all 10, played the show, then drove back to the promoter’s house where we experienced several complications which cannot be discussed. Then went to sleep and I had bad dreams about the promoter convincing us to be a part of serial murders.
Thurs, Oct 9
We drove to Houston— directly to our friend’s newly built container house. Anybody who doesn’t know about this kind of construction should check out http://www.jillhunterphotography.com/numen/album/. That’s the house. Really amazing. We went to Jim’s. He’s our other good friend in Houston and he lives downtown. His house is an old remodeled building that started life as a brewery but now has the entire rear wall of the structure chopped off and replaced with glass. He also has a “no clothes allowed” pool on his roof (which is transparent, by the way) along with a nice hot tub and some very good scotch. We swam, ate some good Mexican food and got to The Continental Club, to find a Beatles-with-distortion cover band playing. We panicked to get set up and played for a mid-sized audience. We drank a lot, did some dirty dancing and went back to Jim’s for more naked swimming. We left the van in a red no-parking zone, each of us thinking that somebody else would move it. Nobody did.
Friday, Oct 10
Zach woke up at 7 am, walked to the bathroom, and opened the massive industrial door to find himself face-to-back-of-the-head with a guy doing unmentionable things to himself on the toilet while staring at the wall. Zach says the guy jerked his head around to face him with the look of a deer caught in headlights (Zach does an excellent impression). The rest of the band awoke to the contagious realization that we had not moved the van and could not see it from the balcony. After some panic, we found that the van had not yet been towed, but HAD been ticketed. Oh well. We went to lunch at a cheap diner, then spent virtually ALL DAY driving to Jackson, Mississippi. Pulled up at the venue back door of Martin’s, which was oriented as if it were the front door. We were told to park on the sidewalk, where we left the van all night and where we got no ticket despite cops circling by about every 2-3 minutes. The promoter was the soundman, and there were problems with sound all night. We played for a small crowd but somehow broke the back-end of the deal. This was the first time we had ever jumped down to the floor to play in the crowd and had the crowd walk away in disinterest. We went back to the promoter’s house to go to sleep.
Saturday, Oct 11
Finally, the Last day of the tour. We ate the most horrible Krystals I’ve ever eaten and Tom threw about half of his away. We then headed to Montevallo. We arrived, talked to Betsy, our friend who originally introduced us to the town and usually gives us a place to sleep. Josh and I went for a run and were offered pumpkins by a group at a local festival that was shutting down. We carried our pumpkins home in running shorts and no shirts, much to the amusement of the few people who saw us. We hung out with Betsy and friends for a while and headed to the Eclipse Coffee venue. This place is always a good night— lots of drinking, an audience that understands our sense of humor and always good food. The owner, like usual, spent all night heckling us from out in the crowd and spouting a perpetual stream of almost universally-unacceptable “sex” jokes, if you consider things that extreme to fall into so uninteresting a category as “sex.” Like usual we sold a lot of merch. The night peaked with us telling the owner about the jack-off story from Houston. His response: “Fortunately that’s stopped happening to me ever since my dad died.” See what I mean— you tell me if that’s a sex joke… We got in the van and drove home. Arrived at 5 am eastern time and went to bed.
