2006 Oh! Gravity Tour Billboard Tour Diary
October 17, 2006
I have loved music all my life. It’s an attraction that I have never fully been able to put into words. I forget to eat sometimes but I’ve never forgotten about music. For me, music blurs the lines between the natural and the supernatural. I find true miracles in most of my favorite songs. Maybe it’s a conflict of interest to mix business with therapy. Or maybe music is the quickest way under my skin.
Whatever metaphor you want to use, a good song is one of the most transcendent vehicles I could hope to ride in and I’m pretty sure I would still be playing these tunes even if there were no one around to hear them.
Perhaps that knowledge is what makes me so thankful for people who want to hear our music. What a gift to be able to share these songs with people who might treasure music the way I do. Certainly, the thought of being a part of the musical journey of others is an honor. So thank you for listening to our tunes, thanks for singing along.
So indeed, much to be thankful for. We are on tour and today was the first date. And as far as first dates are concerned it went really well. The nervous tension that plagues first dates of all varieties was swept away by the first few songs.
Oh Bakersfield! Played a few older songs that we haven’t played in a while: only hope and learning to breathe. They feel really great to play. Like old friends. We also played a couple brand new tunes that we’ve never played before. Two of my favorite songs: ” Dirty Second Hands” and “My American Dream.” So fun to play! These songs are certainly my favorite moments in the set, pushing things forward…
So as I type this as the local hands pack up the lights, the bus driver gets ready to roll and we pack our things for the next stop.
The Roxy in LA. Some of my favorite moments in Los Angeles have happened at the Roxy. I’m excited to play. There it is.
The bus just started her engines. I’m out!
October 27, 2006
Howdy from Minneapolis!
It’s been a great first seven shows. Some of my favorite cities, including what could very well be one of my favorite shows ever up in portland.
The venue we usually play up here in Minnesota, the Quest, had a fire. The efforts to put out the fire caused an incredible amount of water damage. Consequently, we’re playing a new place. See, I’m all for new places but we had a bit of a love affair with the Quest and James (the imposing black man who ran the place).
I’ve heard two stories about what will happen to our old “friend”: either it will be back up and running in the spring or it may never be opened again. I was talking with “tall steve” (one of the hands who used to work over at the quest) — we’ve both had a lot of good musical memories over there and yet, every good thing comes to an end.
This story reminds me of our credo for the current tour- this might very well be the last time you play this room. Do not take tomorrow for granted. Today and today’s show and every soul in the room singing along is an incredible gift that may never be given again. Enjoy and live abundantly this moment for another breath might not be given.
And yet tour is kicking in, as it always does. Every day becomes rather like a Bill Murray groundhog day, the repetition of similarities.
Venues, faces, songs, radio stations, promoters, catering… today begins to blur with tomorrow and yesterday and the tour credo is threatened by depression and apathy.
Heres a few cyclical equations for the mathematically inclined:
recycled bus air + shaking hands in the cold after the shows + too much yelling on stage = my throat feels the familiar scratch of tour.
green tea + lot’s of water+vitamin c= I’m ready to head back to the bus, the shaking hands and the yelling!
And I’m ready to scream it out tonight… my hot tea is brewed.
We try and screw with the set list every night, both for us and for the people coming to the shows. Tonight feels like a risky one, usually those are the ones that I fight for. I’ll tell you how it goes… so in this corner: the tour/ life credo of living abundantly, and in this corner: the depression, apathy, and sickness of monotony. I’ll keep you posted.
November 01, 2006
So I threw a guitar at the drums last night. It broke in half. And I got a speeding ticket. It was a pricey evening.
I suppose there are consequences for everything we do, a reaction for every action. I know why I was speeding; I’m not really too sure why I threw the guitar. I feel like the two are unrelated incidents. One a strange dreamlike memory filled with lights and sound. The other, a calculated risk of numbers.
I don’t think of myself as an angry person. I don’t like yelling at people or being yelled at. I can be a bit argumentative sometimes, but I don’t go out looking for a fight. Perhaps I have the occupation of exorcising those demons every night. Screaming about my fears and hope and pain and dreams. Leading an audience through the back of my mind, the words that would otherwise never be said.
I don’t remember throwing the guitar as an isolated event. I remember a blur. Motion. Emotion. And then out into the night. Awake. Throbbing. Alive. My back up against the solid brick in the alleyway. The cool october air against my skin.
My goal every night is to climb inside of these songs and roll around for the evenings. They are my transportation, taking me to worlds that rarely see the light of conversation: love, hate, grace, God, sex, fear, politics…
I’m a horrible actor. I simply can’t fake it. Maybe that’s what make’s me a good musician. My only chance is to lose myself within these songs. It’s a form of worship I suppose…
My wife put it really well: you can fix a guitar but you can’t take words back.
Honestly? I thoroughly enjoyed myself… And, with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek, I was just doing my job.
November 06, 2006 – More like Sickfoot
Touring is a world of contrast. Yesterday I left the stage and headed straight down the street to play another set at a nearby coffee shop. I felt strong and alive. I honestly could have played all night. Radiohead covers. Dylan covers. Old tunes. I felt invincible.
A few hours ago, I stepped off stage and vomited all over the floor. And the sidewalk. And the street. And the bus. I feel frail and dead. After a few songs of attempted normalcy I spent most of our set balled up on the floor. This type of thing has never happened to me before in a live music environment. There are few things that I will not press through…
To be honest, I felt relieved when I began to throw up both because the action eased the awful feeling inside and because it explained my weakness on stage. The sickness explained why I collapsed in the middle of a tune called “This Is Your Life” and couldn’t seem to open my eyes or get up. I suppose that it took this sort of finish to make me realize that I wasn’t just being a baby about things. Nobody wants to be a baby.
Whatever hit me had already hit two of the other guys on the bus. That is the problem with the yellow submarine model of touring: everyone share the same living space for the journey across the country, everyone shares the same highs and lows. But the bus sure beats the fifteen passenger alternative.
I feel better now. But I can’t seem to get to sleep. My fever broke and I hope to be fine when I wake up tomorrow for an off day. I normally get bored on off days; I’ve never been this excited about a day off!