March Tour

March 11, 2006 2:21AM

Hipsters…fabulous haircuts….slimming jeans…Yeungling…The Strokes… pimps, cum-suckers, and booking agents…new posters, smaller flyers, more radio, no gigs on Thursday, more gigs (period), fewer gigs (period), less New York, more talking with the crowd, more fucking, less drinking, more eye contact....yet, for every moment onstage, there’s nothing but appreciation, envy, lust, and the 3 of us screaming “you’re criminal.” Everything’s become a nagging eye twitch …the world’s turned “acronym”….. some fat bastard taking my credit card information was yammering on about G9 to F5 for E5…I think he was talking about the van I was renting but I wasn’t sure …he presented The Durango to me because a Town & Country was not available(insert snide chortle as he said “Town & Country”….still have no clue why)…the Pathfinder would be the ultimate driving machine for us band dudes fetching the female of the specie, eh?!…I had to make him aware I had no fucking clue what the difference was between a Durango and a Pathfinder and please just give me the fucking keys….is Durango a word? We just drove through a tunnel somewhere in Baltimore and “Fitter, Happier” popped on the shuffle…I made the observation that we were driving in Berlin…everyone chuckled….first lighthearted moment in weeks….guess we’re out of New York …The Tourist will be on shortly…we haven’t encountered a competing vehicle for miles…

March 11, 2006 12:36PM

A quaint McMansion with white picket fences, one second….the next, something that vaguely resembles what used to be a Hooverville….decimated beyond any conceivable recognition….ye gods, what’s the history of its untimely demise? Pick-up’s that look like they’ve been pieced together by Dr. Frankenstein or Dali …a potpourri of color…red passenger door…black hood…rusted bin…gun rack with some sort of embroidering on it…”Jesus Loves Wallace and Christians”? Six SUV’s in a row? Never could have predicted that….Jesus god, they’re everywhere….more than Fairfield County… four skinny English dudes are having their hand at Bluegrass on the shuffle….they’re nailing it…..a song for Strider…mmm, a retailer that sells “Amish Barns”…..wonder how business is treating him? Nearly cut off on Route 70 by 2 dudes displaying wifebeaters and taming dirtbikes…yes folks, it’s begun….we are in The United States of America…armed to the teeth…stuffed to the gills…one nation….under God…indivisible….with liberty….and justice…for all.

March 12, 2006 sometime after 3 am

I’m the lone survivor…at 5 pm, I wanted Joy Division…I wanted Mark Mothersbah at 7am prior…I’m the unknown soldier….I want comfort…Andres is snoring….Esfand is unconscious…dosed…heavily medicated…talking in his sleep….in Farsi…what would Camus do in this goddamn city at 3am?

March 13, 2006 12:25PM

Supremely refreshed…everyone’s in good spirits…a few solid bathings have erased the putrid odor I was sharing with the good city of Charlotte…played 2 very tight sets (minus my right hand going completely numb for 2 songs last night)…southern cuisine is not agreeing with me at all…southern hospitality is, however…no “fusion” cuisine….no experimentation….just hearty grizzle and animal protein…there is no grey in these parts… no dicking around…paper plates…skirts that are barely a table napkin…existence is reduced to eating, sleeping, breathing, shitting, and fucking...not necessarily in that order….not necessarily mutually exclusive…I’ve only seen toilet hosts donning suits distributing paper towels, mints, cologne, peanut butter cups, hand cream, and pleasantries in strip joints and discothèques in Connecticut…but in Charlotte North Carolina they take this simple, consumer-centric idea to the fucking Degoba System…a massive karaoke system which included massive speakers and a video monitor displaying a woman from the early nineties swiveling her hips and tossing her bangs…the toilet host had a snakeskin suitcase to warehouse this elaborate machine…dude played his own dance music while men urinated, parted their hair, and picked their noses…this motherfucker was genuinely getting down and, I’m guessing, will get nasty via whatever else he has brewing in that snakeskin suitcase of his…his party was, by his own estimation, blowing the doors off of what was transpiring in the National Geographic experiment of gin, flip flops, Old Navy button-downs, and powder smelling stripper perfume right outside his door….it was the most spectacular exhibition I’ve seen yet… wait…this carries little weight…I said the same thing about the Virginia rest stop at 5am which was ensconced in cigarette smoke, gambling addicts in overalls plowing away at slot machines, a 17 year old boy rubbing his pecker near the pornography on the magazine rack, a terrifying human bobble head doll propped in the corner with a WaWa cup that was, at least, 8 days old and 2 - ½ empty packs of Pall Malls, and a Leatherface that rang up my Red Bull…these are most definitely not the individuals that Shep Smith refers to as Americans who are realizing the benefits of our growing global economy…must make a note to take this matter up with the Chihuahua in the White House on Thursday.

March 14, 2006 2:37PM

Burning ass towards Charleston…Landlord unanimously decries Athens Georgia to be the most pleasant city that we’ve individually or collectively experienced….the definition of Smalltown USA…a John Mellencamp video on the outside with a diverse, edgy, and flirtatious soul…extraordinarily pleasant and eloquent locals (in a Haiku sort of way)…the only negative was that fucking bail bondsman that was smiling at me from the avert in every damn watering hole toilet in Athens…something ominous about him…unusually sparse representation of Greek Folk among the greater population around the University of Georgia due to Spring Break…this is not a bad thing…this quaint jewel of Americana that has hardly been fondled by major retail corporations queued all of us into rare form…I consumed an unprecedented amount of warm whiskey and traded very intense laughs with the locals…”dude, you’re sense of humor is as fucked up as them flashy clothes y’all are wearin’”…”Andres was extraordinarily overtired and fucked off due to 9 consecutive hours of drinking Red Stripe… Esfand partook in a gin and tonic….Esfand gripping and consuming a gin and tonic is as rare an occurrence as Elvis Aaron Presley rising from the dead in order to don a girdle and skydive over the Grand Canyon…it’s purely the stuff of myth and local legend…yes folks, if there were many Greek Folk around there most definitely would have been trouble…this epiphany came via Juice, a local wizard….a gignormous 20-something with massive hair who had been complaining about a mountain lion on his back for days and was not wearing shoes…”you know what there Title, you’re right. It’s a good thing y’all came down during Spring Break first because them Frat Boys wouldda broken and eaten your skinny ass’…”why?” I asked…”cause you wouldda used one o’ them fancy words on their pieces of ass that belong to them frat boys”… the set sounded amazing, or so I’m told…blacked out for the entire fucking thing…apparently, there was quite a cool new addition to the drum part in “Shame, Shame”…shame, shame on me for not having a fucking clue what I did…”y’all are the best fucking band we’ve had come through these parts”…”we’re all real sorry y’all had to play during Spring Break, but y’all have to come back when they’s around”…not to worry Juice…I’m going to honor that insurance policy…nothing better than new mates who fancy long rounds of the jukebox and Jack Daniels, a guaranteed bout of serious mischief with filthy southern sorority girls and the genetically modified men who love them, and the name and number of the best goddamn bail bondsman in Clarke County…Mahalo.

March 15, 2006 1:50PM

Half way to Baltimore…a delightful evening of playing and drinking in Charleston…hung out with Mike, the sound dude, for the majority of the evening…this surprised me because he was extremely guarded when I introduced myself….seemed like the kinda dude that’s just been there and done it and doesn’t talk about it and please don’t ask…just let him do his job, which he enjoys tremendously…he’s worked on many successful national tours….some of which, as it turns out, I was fortunate enough to catch for myself when they passed through NYC…we found common ground…he talked a marvelous game about music and the industry that taints it…shared his opinions about the many things having to do with the greater Charleston area…gave me the highlights reel from his high school and early touring days… just a marvelous breath of fresh air containing a hearty and contagious laugh…and his talk was only the tip of the iceberg…the sound on stage was fucking immense…it was without question the best sounding gig I’ve played in my life… everything I’d asked for with regard to what I wanted out of my monitors was catered to with precise detail…this man was the real fucking deal…this was especially comforting because we had received a sour email from a record label earlier in the day…for the sake of anonymity, we’ll just call it “The Label.” We had shared a gig in Charlotte a few nights prior with a band that was on “The Label.” We opened for them…as I walked off-stage, the drummer in said band asked me, “dude, anyone ever tell you they were scared to play after you?” I’d heard this many times over but I told him that I had not…”why? Are you scared, mate?’ I asked…..”kinda,” he replied…I grabbed him tightly by the shoulders …”None of that!” I screamed at him….”now help me get my kit offstage and gangfuck these people with your music”….he smiled and did as I suggested …he seemed to be concentrating on the drums a great…didn’t make much show…he played well…we hung out a bit with the rest of said signed band after their set…they were delightful people and very passionate about how much they liked our music, how original our sound was, etc, etc … which leads us to the email from Sara, a representative at The Label…”thanks so much for submitting your music to The Label….however, we’re not signing bands at this time…we encourage you to keep up the good work J”…”yup, lots of bands come through here and most of ‘em are signed and not having a fucking thing done for them by their labels…poor as shit….the bands and the labels…all singing 3 notes about being grounded by their mom…not like it used to be, dude….fuck ‘em”

March 17, 2006 4:30 AM

“Some folks live in water tanks. Some folks live in red brick flats.”

The ghetto/brain-lock vortex that some call Baltimore, Maryland seemed to put everyone in a strange place. I can carry on for many moons on the complexities and abnormalities of this hellish nightmare that Earl Grey certainly envisioned Sydney Harbour to turn into (much to his dubious demise) but I digress.

“There is enough, the law is carved in granite. It's been shaped by wind and rain. White law could be wrong. Black law must be strong.”

I smelled trouble and anxiety in the nation’s capital slightly before we merged onto Jersey Turnpike (and Andres subsequently merged into an 11 hour coma) slightly before midnight on Fri night. “Airbag” popped on the shuffle at a little after 2:30AM as we sped south through Maryland and headed toward the greater DC area. Esfand is quite possibly the most impressive pedestrian driver I’ve ever met. We were making incredible time. He suggested we listen to OK Computer in it’s entirely and I would’ve been a heathen to disagree. “Fitter Happier” through the Baltimore Tunnel. “Electioneering” while speeding past some sort of bottling facility. “Climbing Up the Walls” through an area where someone, somewhere close by was definitely being murdered. “No Surprises” – Welcome to Arlington. “The Tourist” – Our Nations Capital. Enjoy Kansas my dear because we would not be there for long. The good times rolled and we were back in DC less than a week later.

“Warakurna, cars will roll. Don't drink by the water hole. Court fines on the shopfront wall. Beat the grog and save your soul.”

The venue was situated in the Georgetown area. Young college co-ed’s were most certainly afoot. Coincidentally, a gentleman’s club that was of the “reverse upscale” nature was situated next door to the venue. The fridge buzz began. My playing resembled that of John Bonham circa 1979 if you fed the poor bastard a fried steak, 4½ dozen Sudafed, 16 Vivarin, and 40 oz. of Wild Turkey. My behavior once I was finished playing was simply despicable. I was irritated, incoherent, and exhausted. Near the conclusion of our stay at said gentleman’s club I desired something healthy, so I began pounding cranberry juice. I found my way into 2 of the most depressing conversations in recent memory. Deadening sobriety ensued. It was time to go home.

“Some people laugh, some never learn. This land must change or land must burn. Some people sleep, some people yearn. This land must change or land must burn.”

Home certainly did not include the late night movie and a cheese pizza, so I decided to have a nightcap at The White House. We visited the site earlier in the day. The experience confounded me. Every child under 21 was having their picture taken in front of the impressive, prestine structure. Every adult over 27 was having their picture taken in front of scathing signs of protest which adorned the outskirts of said structure. Everyone in between took pictures of the pigeons screwing in the park.

“Diesel and dust is what we breathe. This land don't change and we don't leave.”

At 4am, The White House is serene…angelic…as poetic as the anthems written to defend the honor it represents. That is, until you’re joined by a White House security guard on the graveyard shift. He asked me what I was doing. To which I responded that I was enjoying the view. He asked me to leave and I queried the boy why. He answered by showing me the weapon he wore on his belt. I told him that listening to “Warakurna” in front of said symbol of freedom is quite something. He told me there were songs he enjoyed to listen to under the same circumstances. He informed me he was from Bayside, Queens and he had been in town and on the job for 3 weeks. We laughed at how clean the streets of DC were. Everything looked new and I was scared to touch any of the buildings. We found common ground and had a laugh. He nearly seemed human until his right eye twitched and his body jerked in a haphazard sort of way. He quickly displayed said weapon and readied a set of handcuffs and said “now get the fuck out of here.”

“Some people live, some never die. This land don't change this land must lie. Some people leave, always return. This land must change or land must burn.”

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Cathartic Haze

It was this morning at 11am when a colleague said, “Jesus, Justin you look really pale. How was your weekend?” This observation, followed by its insipid follow-up, left me feeling numb and empty...ordinary.

The recent past would be deemed a rousing success for other bands …we’re, however, becoming more cynical and, most strikingly, restless…as such, the music feels better and better…the elation associated with our gigs is immediately followed by deadening psychosis because we don’t have the means to tour which is then followed by explosive bouts of creativity.

I had a near-meltdown last night immediately after returning home from the studio…Esfand just laid down some sterling guitar tracks…we played a proud set on Sat night and left a great number of people very satisfied…I had no reason to wig out…I have no reason to feel such dissatisfaction at this very moment…I’m listening to an unhealthy amount of Radiohead…apparently, so I’m told, I’ve been completely zoning out into a cathartic haze at home every once in a while…my nails are growing at an alarming rate…we’re all barmy and are a bit short at the moment.

Ah, the weekend, then? Completely fucking maddening. Jesus God, I turn into a complete bitch when I don’t get my sleep...total fucking glitterati.
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Asbestos

So, we beginning recording in less than a week. We could’ve, arguably, started recording a few weeks ago but there have been unspoken bits and pieces that were bothering us. The past few weeks have been strange… apprehension and self-doubt…bizarre silence in rehearsal upon completing each song rehearsed…Joan Rivers taking a flaming sledgehammer to the lower spine.

It all came to a head this past weekend. We performed upstairs from a burlesque show…edgy hip-hop was ablaze and asses were being swiveled, pathetically, from side to side… J Edgar Hoover could be resurrected to perform a better burlesque…2 blocks from THE most depressing place in this country...small Asian women were selling booklets with pictures of massive buildings being destroyed on the cover…people from middle-America were taking in the aura, the asbestos…taking pictures of a hole in the earth to show their aunts and uncles back home…and actually purchasing these fucking books…it was the antithesis of everything this band would consider hell.

Prosthesis is beautiful...if we live vicariously through glitterati, we can forget about everything that seemed to be falling apart around, or seemed to matter, to us last November…nursery rhymes from 7-10 every evening…everything is absolutely fine…all fucking gaudy sequins, cheap suits, self-pity, self-importance, trash tele, and synthesizers…

The best way out is through…by Sunday, everything was sorted and we completed writing the album.
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Symmetrical McVillages

The forces of nature decided I deserved a minor slice of hell, thus I’ve been thrust into the bowels of suburban Colorado. My flight back to NYC has been delayed numerous times...we’re an hour behind at the moment. If the rotten son of a bitch next to me doesn’t shut off his goddamn cellular phone, I’m going to eat the fucking thing. The professional looking woman behind me has been chatting away in the loudest voice possible on her cellular phone for the past hour…she has some sort of contraption attached to her ear that resembles those electronic devices used to tag cattle before they’re slaughtered …the organization has been very good to her, she’s looking forward to the boondoggle in Scottsdale, she’s cheating on her husband at the moment...she has her world by the balls…the antithesis of an iconic sitcom character. Bless her heart. The President of the United States is, currently, presenting his latest policy regarding this country’s energy concerns. Normally, I’d be all over this. At this point, my brain hurts and the most I can tolerate are cartoons and/or pornography although American politics resembles both these days. Fuck it, I could never look away from a train wreck…

Suburban sprawl, corporate parks, symmetrical McVillages, and chemical plants have consumed this state. The county where we stayed is owned by a holding company (an advanced technology environment with powers greater than god almighty) who decided to “re-arrange” the borders of the towns contained therein in order to evade taxes and build strip malls as far as the eye can see. Major retail corporations and their shareholders can reap the benefits of cheap labor and low taxes. Local businesses and entrepreneurs are “eliminated.” People definitely lost their lives as a result of this environmental “reorg.”

Nothing, but country music and it’s everywhere. Not Johnny Cash country, but some vapid, retarded, genetic mutation that can only sell in a retail environment where one can buy recorded music, snow tires, undergarments that rise above the waist, pop tarts, rubbers, and a hand gun in the same trip. Bars don’t exist and strong drink is very hard to come by but food products come in three sizes: “large,” “super,” and “king.” The air here is thin and I get fatigued easily. The landscapes are gorgeous but are eclipsed by massive shrouds of clouds being emitted from the chemical plants. God, no wonder everyone hates us…I don’t blame ‘em a bit. The President is still yammering away…addressing questions…selling himself…calming the masses. Stop. Enjoy silence.
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DEATH DISC @ DELANCEY

Sweet Jesus, he was clenching an enormous blade hidden behind that trench coat of his. He neglected a spec of dried human tissue on his right arm, but I didn’t miss it. He wasn’t fooling me. The way his eyes darted…calculating…sizing ‘em up… he was waiting…he’ll seize upon a delicious specimen any moment now. Some poor soul who decided to break the rules and throw a few back on a favorable Wed evening. She’ll be wearing an alluring fragrance, for sure. The mess was obvious, even from my distant vantage, but it was graphic. A wretched, orgy of violence, fear, and unequivocal power…the kind that heads of state must experience when they push the button…altering the lives of millions of innocent people who are proud of a GDP lower than the great state of New Mexico…reduced…downsized…efficient…compassionate…conservative.

It was midway through, 10 Bells when I realized where I was. We were performing at The Delancey and I was screaming and yelling like a banshee on mescaline…5-trimethoxyphenethylamine…potent shit... my limbs were wild…everywhere…completely numb… I wasn’t telling them to do a thing…the kind of suspended animation that seems to be moving at the speed of light…BP was twitching in the DJ booth. He resembled Carl Hyde in a snake pit taming a head full of LSD with Johnny Cash moving his neck and head as if he were a marionette(he seemed to be having quite an enjoyable trip, indeed)…someone was smoking…goddamn it I love the smell of cigarettes…I was soaked… hell was breaking loose…an angry fleet of sleek tanks was firing on all 8…attractive women were in the crowd…they appeared to be moving their hips, but my ego was probably playing tricks on me…we were peaking with the crowd…Esfand was strutting like a peacock…Andres had turned to stone…it was all happening again
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The Black Door

It was The Black Door before rehearsal to catch up on Andres’ escapades in Vegas. Jesus God…The Alaskan…the poor bastard…I must have looked like a dear in headlights until 11pm, at least…I’m still in serious shock after hearing the terrible chain of events…I would’ve destroyed the son of a bitch and eaten his sill beating heart. Whenever any of us travel, a renewed sense of urgency is ignited in all of us. “We must get out of our current gigs and hit the road.” We want to dance with as many devils as our scrawny limbs can handle. “Man, remember when Squeze was lean and not so completely fucked on ‘ludes and ‘The Turkey?’” Live out of a jukebox, eh? Only the lowest of parasites will suck on the seductive tit of celebrity, eh? Nothing but tight trousers and glamour bombs, eh?

“America’s great, now. If you don’t talk back you hide your face. Crawl in rubble and smile and scorn at that snail-paced creature going up and down walls. I just want to celebrate. I’m not going to sell my soul to him, when you look right in.” -RH-

Ho ho…gets me every time…preach it, brother…out like trout.
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Studio

The next phase is official. We checked the place out tonight. Fantastic vibe in the joint The producers will contribute a great deal. One of the fellas has an interest in electronica and was throwing lingo on cue that left Andres and I completely in left field. He humored me by listening to a track from Modern Life is Rubbish (“the album should be biting and dry, like this” while vehemently waving my arms around like a schizophrenic on crack). He’s going to challenge our sound…thank God. The other one, a shrewd business man...the mad scientist of the operation…a critical individual…hard to please. I like him.

Jonathan was there tonight while we were checking the place out. I spoke with him for a few, made a complete ass of myself, (the best I could do was “I used to be a huge fan of your work.” “Used to be?!?” he replied, half jokingly). He shared some delicious treats a “stalker” of his had sent him. It was sort of like breaking bread with a patron saint, or an alien, or something. I remember my father taking me to a drum clinic when I was 10, and Jonathan was performing. I had been playing drums for a few months. Ye gods, he was amazing. The man’s playing simply demanded the attention and respect from anyone within earshot. The bartenders were shitting themselves. All bombs and fireworks and the sound of Switzerland self destructing into smithereens (if Switzerland were to explode, for no real reason). He was incredible…a machine…very calculating…and with poise and grace that which was unprecedented to my 10 year old eyes, ears, and ego. It changed everything.

This, invariably, ups the ante. No doubt, a completely numbing mind fuck for months to come…nothing but white noise…Technicolor spots…long grog induced hazes at 4am completely second guessing everything that comes to mind. Ah, sit tight, son. All that will come later. For now, we’re giddy and hungry, right where a band should be at this stage of writing an album.
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