"It's a shame that the only thing a man can do for
eight hours a day is work. He can't eat for eight hours; he can't drink for
eight hours; he can't make love for eight hours. The only thing a man can do
for eight hours is work." - William Faulkner
This tour was the best tour we've had so far in our short
but budding career. It had been a year since our last, and though we had wrote
and recorded an album, raised the cash and spent it to get to SxSw for one set,
made a video, and were the subject of an unprecedented amount of press, the
year had felt stagnant and sterile. There was and is still so much to do. Our
Mayhem Cruise in the Bahamas was cancelled, probably something to do with Randy
Blythe’s legal problems. But you know what Jesus said: when a door closes,
break in through a window and take everything. We had rerouted our 6th DIY tour
because we were offered one where we finally would have to do nothing more than
sit back and play; the tour we're about to go on with The Sword. That tour is
going to be real work for us. It'll be the first in which we won’t be playing
purely for the love of playing because it's our first chance to really prove
our merits and conviction for the music in a daily setting of warriors,
handlers, and small seas of listeners who in all likelihood are staring at
their watches waiting for the headliner. It will be our most hardened and
serious effort yet. And because of that, we spent this last tour living as hard
and fast as we could, with those who had been with us from the beginning. It
was a chance to iron the wrinkles of the last year doing what we do best.
The road began on September 7 straight out of the greater
Los Angeles area. We had the four of us, Ron, Eric, Ian, and myself, as well as
our new merch girl Bonnie, and for the first few days at least, Jordan from
Metal Blade, to document as much as he could and see if we keep our money where
our mouths are. The ride up to Oakland for us included weed, booze, and sex. At
the venue we drank and smoked. The first day of tour is like any other day of
work. You maintain as best you can in the surreal environment, but reality is
never more in your embrace than in the work space. It was Bonnie's birthday and
the shots were flowing. Jordan bought a bottle of Jameson and we went back to
Micah's place. We told jokes, we ran out of cigarettes, and no one was allowed
to leave until the bottle was done. We disturbed a sleeping roommate and were
ejected from the house. That's why we have a van.
I woke up to the sounds of Ron Houser on the phone. He must
be talking to his girlfriend Lisa, I thought. When I raised up over him to see
what exactly was going on he met my eyes with his and I realized he was
speaking to no one, present or on a phone or otherwise. Bonnie wanted a Four
Loko breakfast so she left and returned with a black bag full of the stuff. The
three of us drank in our underwear in the sun on MLK Blvd at 10 in the morning
until there was nothing left to drink. We met up with the rest of the band,
found a BBQ joint to soak up the alcohol, entered the van and headed to Lake
Tahoe.
In Tahoe the party never stopped. Josh Leece treated us like
partiers with nothing to lose, and when you live like that, you can't lose. The
next morning was Sunday so we needed to go back to the bar to watch football.
Saints lost. Packers lost. Defeat can make a man do strange, incomprehensible
things he's told himself and anyone else he would never do.
As you may have heard, Reno is where it's at. Before heading
down the mountain we shot a house party video in Josh's place and drank more
beer and whiskey with the reckless abandon we're used to. By the time we made
it to Reno most of us had sobered up. That's only an issue when you're in a place
that will charge you again to drink twice as much as before to get over the
post-day drunk hump and arrive at where you need to go. I find no shame in
divulging we had other things than alcohol to help us over that hump. Serious
back room conversations were had, fights broke out. I don't know what bands we
played with and that will just have to be how it is. When you're working like
we do, and enjoying that what might be the last dance in a night of casual
chaos, well, caution is with the wind.
The next day took us to San Francisco for a show at the
Elbow Room. This one was a bitch to book and took more networking than a geek
you know from high school on Facebook for the first time. But it paid off. In
fact, if you're diligent enough, you'll find footage of it on youtube. Whiskey,
Four Loko. That night, it's safe to submit to you, is when whiskey and four
loko became the two official drinks of choice for the Gypsyhawk crew. Jordan
had to leave us to go back home, but we're pretty sure he had a great weekend
with us. In fact, if he didn't, he’s a dick. (I know he's reading this right
now and laughing.)
What's next? Day off. Do you wanna hear about us replacing a
tire? You do?? Well, too bad. It was boring. We had time to kill, a whole day
really, so we went south, about a half hour, to Alex's from At Our Heels. Eric
played Magic, Ron smoked cigarettes, Ian drank, and Bonnie and I watched the
Lemmy movie on my computer. Most of that happened in the van on a very suburban
street. When a cop pulled up outside the liquor store we were at I thought i
was going to get arrested. My fear of cops was on high alert, but when you're a
seal in the Cape of Good Hope you better be fucking scared because the sharks
are hungry and looking for trouble. Sex, drugs, rock n roll. Another day in the
van. And then what? We all got free passes to the Korpiklani show back in SF at
the DNA Lounge. They took us on their bus, and I have a bad feeling we drank
all their booze. At least one of us did, and I'll let you guess who. Hint: he
plays guitar and he’s not me. One of us was carried back to the van, another couldn't tell his
left from his right while at the steering wheel, and so we drove only half a
block away, an unnecessarily enormous yet modest task, and we slept. Well, I
sorta slept. No one else has the kind of anxiety that I do. It's extraordinary
how you can feel the same way having a lot to lose as you did when you had
nothing.
So the next morning we had to go to Santa Cruz. I went to
school there. It was an awesome place for learning. Have you ever climbed a 60
foot red wood to scout for psychedelic mushrooms growing in a cow pasture? I
had those cool binoculars with the red lenses on the front that marines use for
picking the brownest target. Anyway, we went to the Boardwalk where they filmed
that vampire movie Lost Boys. That was ok, but there was a bowling alley across
the street that had a bar. I invented a new drink that had hazelnut liqueur,
blueberry vodka, and Malibu Rum, on ice. I think i'll call it the Blue Balls.
We saw a cop chase a mad man on foot and then we went to the Blue Lagoon to
play a show. No offense to friends, but can you please use more than one riff
in your 30 minute song? I know that's what the kids like, but kids are fucking
stupid. That's why they can't buy booze or stamps.
In a couple days' time from there we were in Pomona, at the
Glasshouse, playing the Metal Blade/Scion AV showcase with Pilgrim,
Battlecross, Cattle Decapitation, and Six Feet Under. I'll tell you right now
this was the most fun day and most fun night of the whole tour. Free booze,
giant stages, vaporizers, whiskey, bloody broken sinks, sex, fights, beer,
cannonball competitions, buffalo wings, four loko, lies, and mayhem. It was
pandemonium all day, all night. Then we had to leave. We were originally going
to go to San Diego, but we played there the night before instead. JOY is a good
band. Check them out. So is Old Man Wizard.
"How big of an eater are you?" "I'm a
Houser."
Soon we were in Vegas. 2 free rooms at the Golden Nugget.
Did you know they have a water slide that goes through a fucking shark tank?
$160 on black because Wesley Snipes said, Always Bet On Black, and he was
right. Drugs. Booze. Raging hard. Demon Lung is sick and you should listen to
it. We were awake until about 4:30. Except for Ron. He was up all night on the
Wizard of Oz machine. I was the only one who won nothing. You win some, lose
some, it's all the same to me.
SLC. When the indians were forced from the South towards Oklahoma
they called it the Trail of Tears. I don't know what they called the march of
Mormons from wherever idiots come from to Utah, but there were many tears that
night because Bonnie had just decided to quit her thrash band there, where she
had been living before touring with us. The rest of the night was spent nerding
out with our good bros VISIGOTH at the Wizard Tower and watching Battle Royale,
but it was fun. By this night our band had become rock solid. It takes a few
days of touring to work into a groove and we were there finally. Warming up?
Forget about it. But, then again maybe we weren’t that good because we didn’t
get paid anything. Might have been retaliation for cancelling a fest they were
having in June. Whoops.
So we had to go to Denver next. Too much inappropriate shit
to talk about here, but the show was great. I'll just leave it at that my penis
showed up in not the right places. This is also where I feel it necessary to
tell those of you who tease sex that what you are doing is lame. Sex is cool.
Anyone who judges you for liking to fuck is boring. That's ok for them, but
since everyone is different don't feel ashamed for liking it. When a girl tells
you to your face that she’s taking you home, where I come from that means
D.T.F. That’s enough said.
We had a 10 hour drive the next day for Merriam, KS, which
is a suburb of Kansas City. The show was great. They had a massive cooler full
of beer next to a stack of hot pizzas waiting for us, but someone gave the
civilians the key while we were on stage so when we got off, which is the best
time to house pizza and beer, it was all gone. Don’t give civilians keys.
Fucking food eaters. We sold a lot of merch, for us. Turns out that despite the
fact that we’re primarily playing songs off the new album and make that very
clear to the audience most of them want to buy our old one, Patience and
Perseverance. When asked why, the answer is always the same: ‘”there’s a
drawing of titties on this one.” It’s always the titties, ain’t it? So, let
that be a lesson to you youngsters, if you want to sell lots of shit cover it
in titties. After the show we went to our new buds’ house and watched Rainbow
live DVDs, pounded Jim Beam and Heineken, and eventually crashed out. It was a
pretty solid night of activities.
Then we drove to Lincoln, NE, home of the Foightin’ Huskas,
to play a basement show. We drank Four Loko and Jack Daniels the whole way,
except for the driver, of course. Well, maybe he/she had a little. After an
hour of windshield repairs and hassling a hippie shop about not having any
Slayer hackey sacks we went and had dinner with Ian’s parents. I discussed WWII
and living in Japan as a kid after the war with Ian’s dad Orville. That was
cool. It must have been strange for a kid to comprehend being part of an
occupying force in a country devastated by war that previously was one of the
most militaristic nations in history. It’s probably why to this day no one
fucks with Orville Brown. Anyway, after dinner we went to the house party. We
in the band have this ongoing inside joke where we always ask people, “Do you
know Kevin? He’s from Nebraska.” Well, Bonnie didn’t realize it was a joke yet
so she asked some random guy at the party if he was Kevin. The guy was kind of
a goon and wanted to know who the real Kevin was (the “real” Kevins are in Long
Beach and Pasadena). Anyway, this goon started asking everyone at the party,
eagerly and honestly, if they were Kevin, even us in the band, and every time
one of us were asked, we cracked up. This started pissing off the goon because
he thought he was the butt of some joke we had invented at his expense. We
certainly didn’t do such a thing, but as it turns out, we indirectly did. Good
fun. And he deserved it because when Bonnie took out the control pour thing at
the top of big bottles of liquor he put it t back! What a goon. Eventually we
played our set to a rocking basement full of drunk people smoking cigarettes
and spilling beer all over each other, the exact vision I had in my head when
Eric and I decided to started this band. I’m proud to say after all this time
we’re still doing it and we always will. Maybe one day we’ll do a tour that’s
exclusively basements. If you have one, hit us up.
Next day was Colorado Springs at the Triple Nickel. I think
the club is owned by one of the guys from The Nobodys, which is a punk band I
used to listen to in 7th grade so that’s kinda cool. I broke a
string during our first song and I had just changed them two days prior. That’s
never happened and I wasn’t expecting it so I didn’t have my spare guitar on
stage. I had to run backstage to get it which is really not cool. I didn’t have
time to check the tuning so I botched the next song. I think that’s because I
was so quick the other guys didn’t even notice I wasn’t on stage for a minute,
so take from that what you will. When you hear those sticks click it’s time to
roll. After the show we went to our friend’s parents’ house and got really
housed, with her parents. They had one of those Mr. Margarita machines and a
fridge full of beer. Plus, they kept cooking us this amazing Mexican food with
endless tortillas. I’m not sure if I passed out from the booze or the food.
Bonnie chased some poor guy around the house all night screaming, “Buffalo!”
and “Pussy!” because he wouldn’t chug his beer even though he was holding it in
his right hand. I guess Buffalo is some game people play where once you’re
“buffalo” you’re buffalo for life. Some how she found out this guy was indeed a
buffalo and Bonnie didn’t take too kindly to him not playing by his sworn
words. Apparently there’s another game where you get to destroy someone’s
sandwich and it’s “funny”. I don’t know what’s funny about that. I think I can
speak for the whole band when I say destroying our sandwich is grounds for a
punch in the face.
So the next day we went to SLC to stay at Aunt Marta’s house
and recharge since we didn’t have a show. She greeted us with a bountiful feast
and booze. ‘’I know you like beer, do you like stuff like liquor?” “Yes.” “Do
you like whiskey?” “Yes.” “What about the other guys, they like whiskey, too?”
“Obviously you don’t read the blog.” “Well, what about Bonnie?” “She couldn’t
survive here if she didn’t.” We had a great night.
Then we went to Boise. I had a bad feeling about this show
at… THE SHREDDER when I found out there was another touring band on the bill.
That means less money for us. At least half of what we were guaranteed was
going to be given to that band. I’ve always considered myself pretty good at
math (I used to take my trigonometry tests stoned because it was fun to see how
cool numbers are), but I’m not sure I knew until this night in Boise that half
of nothing is nothing. I guess it’s our fault for not packing in the place on
our own merits, but I’d like to just blame it on Boise itself. We’ll see how it
goes next month when we’re there with the Sword. SIDE NOTE: this is the
infamous night when the Seattle Seahawks allowed the refs to steal the game for
them against the Green Bay Packers. Seattle, if you fucked the Packers’ chances
into the playoffs I’m going to stand on top of that stupid needle of yours and
piss on every single last one of you muther fuckers.
As you may have guessed, our next night this tour was in
Seattle, home of the Cheating Muther Fuckers. We went to our buddy Adam Noble’s
house and buffalo’d some beers, then went to some place called Bills and drank
more. Then I bought a bottle of whiskey and drank a lot of that. I had to sleep
it off in the van, which meant Ian had to stand in for me to do an interview with
…. SHREDDER.NET. Luckily, Eric was there to pick up the slack, because Ian’s
talents lie elsewhere. This was a pretty cool night because all the bands we
played with were good, especially Elk Rider, an all girl 4 piece that’s pretty
damn heavy with actual catchy riffs. Turns out my nap did me well because we
played a killer set.
We went to Aunt Lora’s in Portland, OR the next day and she
took us out for drinks and food. Ron kept choosing beers he didn’t like and the
waiter just kept bringing him new ones, which meant I got to drink the ones he
didn’t like. This is a pretty good trick, I guess, even though Ron really was
just being a picky wuss. We played that night at The Know. Did some interviews
and drank. Tons of awesome old friends I haven’t seen in years. Drank whiskey
and smoked dope with them in our van. I eventually fell asleep in it, then woke
up in the morning, cracked open a bottle of champagne and found a corner mart
with orange juice. Mimosas and watched the Simpsons. We had breakfast at this
place called Pine Wood Derby in yuppie hippy ville that made you a biscuit with
sausage, gravy, egg, cheese, and syrup called a Deluxe Reggie. Fucking brilliant.
You have to buss your own table, and the bloody marries are garbage, but, hey,
it’s local.
Then we went to Sassy’s, a killer strip club, and wasted a
ton of money on really hot girls and whiskey. I use “wasted” loosely, and down
right incorrectly.
Next day was Eugene, OR, our first time ever there, at the
Black Forest. On the way is when I got hit in the head by a drum and bled all
over the place. You see, a cat pissed in Ian’s floor tom case while we were in
Seattle and he didn’t want to get the drum covered in cat piss. Makes sense.
But, he decided to keep the damn drum in the van on the third bench. We have
our second bench removed for more room and I sleep on the space there with Bonnie.
While passed out on the way to Eugene the driver, one of the Erix, slammed on
the damn brakes and the drum went flying into my face. There was a lot of blood
and I have a pretty sweet scar next to my left eye. I should have got stitches,
is what people tell me, but I don’t know why you would get stitches unless your
wound won’t stop bleeding. And the show was cool too because event though we
didn’t get any drink tickets the bartender covered my tab. I wish he would have
told me that before hand because then I would have drank more. We slept at a
nearby WalMart and watched The Simpsons. That show is fucking garbage now and I
can’t understand for the life of me why it’s still on. The movie sucked as
well: Spider Pig was fucking retarded. But, seasons 3-8 are by far the funniest
shit ever conceived. There’s just no argument against that fact, which I have
just opinionated.
Onward to Medford, OR, another first for the Hawk. Great
times! Johnny B is a rad dude who, turns out, grew up near me, except 20 years
or so earlier. We wanted to buy liquor, but it was far and we had a killer
parking space (remember, van and trailer) so we had Bonnie and Ian stand in our
spots to make sure no one would take them while the rest of us raced to
Safeway. Right after we got to Safeway, and I had remembered that Oregon is a
caveman state that has all sorts of bullshit liquor laws such as not being able
to sell it at grocery marts, Ian texted me saying to hurry back because Bonnie had
just knocked some guy out. You don’t have to be a professional gambler to bet
on that scenario actually happening. The odds are about 1:1. Turns out Ian
fancies himself a Louis C.K. He’s actually about as funny as fucking a fat
chick and finding genital warts on yourself the next day. Well here’s something
that is funny: “Ian threw up and Ron did too, and they both got fucked by the
train hopping crew.” You probably had to be there.
Redding, CA. We wanted a hotel. We’d just been on tour for
four weeks, we deserved it, damn it. So we bought a bunch of Mike’s Harder
Lemonade (the blueberry kind tastes like Sprite and is 8%) and found a room on
Hotwire.com for cheap. Well, since we went for 2 ½ stars instead of 1 we got a
place that didn’t have just doors for the rooms around the exterior; there was
a single door entrance for the entire hotel with no exits. And we told them
there were only 2 of us so we could save some bucks. We had to figure out a
Great Escape, but to get in. So Bonnie and I checked in, posing as happy newlyweds
on a road trip honeymoon. We told the concierge lady with glasses that we were
expecting local friends over because we’d be celebrating in our room before
going out for the night. After expertly coordinating the rest of the dudes’
entrances, calibrated for minimal notice of sleeping bags, blankets and
pillows, we realized the best way for them to come in unnoticed was just to
walk in casually through the front door. Sorry, that really wasn’t much of a
story, but, thanks for sticking around. So, we played two shows that night. One
at a yuppie bar playing Whitney Houston on the Hi-fi, the other at a tattoo
shop. If Whitney Houston and Tattoos had an arm wrestling match that night,
Tattoos would have won. Beers. Bitches. I will say both shows paid us
handsomely and neither knew of the other. SUCKERS! Whiskey. Drugs? Can’t
remember. But I do remember that Ron, decided to invite himself into the
already cramped hotel room bed maximum occupancied by me, Bonnie, and Eric.
That left Baby Ian asleep at the foot of the bed, like a little dog in some
Disney cartoon as the four listless heroes slumbered on with pointy caps on
their heads and all their toes sticking out from the end of the blanket. Oh, we
also conned Papa John’s out of a free pizza and a 3 liter bottle of Mountain
Dew. Don’t fuck with Bonnie, The Negotiator.
So after a few days of doing nothing except pissing off my
parents and hanging out with Ghost, my dog, we went to Tempe, AZ. Greatest
parking lot ever. Not only was the club, Red Owl there, but they also had a good sandwich place, a liquor store,
a music store, a karate shop, and a Waffle House. Why isn’t every club like
that? One stop shopping. And our awesome bros from Austin, Scorpion Child,
showed up to share the stage with us. We got another hotwire hotel and that was
pretty cool. I think we watched Colbert and South Park. And at the show we met
this dude named Paul Newman and we started talking about relationships. He had
some thoughtful advice that I’d like to share with all of you. “Relationships
are like farts: If you have to force it, it’s shit.” I’ve always thought this
was true. It sucks enough having to work for money. Why have to work for sex?
Your girl’s not that hot, trust me.
I forgot to mention the night after Redding. Sacramento. We
rushed there to catch the Packers vs. Saints game, mine and Bonnie’s respective
teams. Ron and Ian are both NFL fans from the mid-North so they are down with
the Packers, and Eric is from Louisiana so he has a natural affection for the
Saints. This was a good game, as some of you may know. At first the Packers
were kicking butt, which was awesome cuz Bonnie was crying and I was pointing at her and laughing. At half
time we were forced to leave the bar so we went to our hotel, with a quick stop
for a lot of Four Loko. When we got to our rooms and turned the game back on it
was clear the Saints would not go gently into that good night. However, Rodgers
is the greatest quarter back ever and Drue Brees is an overrated hack with
glasses, and the Saints blew it at the end. So we trashed both our rooms and
drank way too much. Towards the end of the night, Bonnie and I were in one room
with Ian, while Ron and Eric were in the other. While laying in the dark
watching Boardwalk Empire, Ron comes in and forces Ian out of his bed.
“Ron?!?!? What are you doing?!” “Shut up.” Ian had to go to the other room with
Eric. The next day we all asked Ron, “Hey, what was your problem last night?
Why’d you kick Ian out of his bed?” His response, innocently enough, was “What?
I thought we were all partying?” Ha HA!
Last night of tour: Hollywood, CA. The Viper Room. I love
Hollywood. It’s cheap, sleazy, shitty, full of delusional transplants, neurotic
tourists, and insatiable whores. No one gives a fuck about you, and at the same
time they want to know exactly who you are. It smells of a fiery dung heap
covered in orchids and young, fresh pussy. Money is the name of the game, and
substance has no place here. It’s
one of the greatest places on earth and I love that it keeps a lot of the
self-righteous hippies from New York, Portland, and San Francisco out of LA all
together. Hollywood is the realest place in the world just because of how vapid
and indifferent it is. The only thing that could make it more real is Nigerian
cannibalism or pissed off muslim children with machine guns. But, give it time.
All things come to pass.
See you on tour with The Sword, Eagle Claw, and American
Sharks starting today.
And don’t be a fuckwit: comment on this fucking blog!
