02.25.14 — 6:16PM Pacific — Tuesday — DNA Lounge, San Francisco, CA

“City on the go…” — Everyone.

My first impression when I walked into the DNA Lounge was a hearty “fuck yeah,” and yes, I said it out loud. Slept as solidly as I could reasonably ask in Arcata last night and got back on the 101 this morning.  More redwoods, some coast, more little enclaves of people and wide-open spaces. Creative types and hippies painting the sides of gas stations. Trees like dreams are big. Unreal. We got to the venue a little bit after 4PM. They had a couple guys on hand to help with load-in, and when I asked what the password for the wifi was, got looked at like I was from another planet (which, rest assured, I am) and told, “It’s open.” Fucking a.

Ride down was subdued, but everyone seems to be in good spirits. We stopped off at Russian River Brewing and picked up a bunch of Pliny the Elder, which pretty much is to American IPAs what Pentagram is to doom. I didn’t have any — grabbed a cup of coffee and a muffin from the place down the way from Russian River — but it seemed to loosen up the atmosphere in the van nicely. With Jim Pitts at the wheel calling out the sundry landmarks of his town, we came into San Francisco on the Golden Gate Bridge with minimal traffic and stopped off to buy a guitar cable before loading in, which again, ran like clockwork.

Once everything was offloaded, Jim Pitts and I went over to Aquarius Records for a quick poke through. I didn’t splurge — am more than fairly broke at this point; you might say unfairly broke — but I figured the cash was better spent on a couple CDs than not. Sucks to have your credit card denied. Sucks even more to have it denied when your purchase total is $21. Cue sad womp-womp noise. Was glad to have hit an ATM earlier at a rest stop on the way.

Doors I think are in about half an hour. The Pentagram and Radio Moscow cats are all here, as are Bedrücken, who are opening, and sitting on the balcony I can hear jolts of laughing, and nobody’s throwing punches, so I’ll surmise that things are going well. I think having the shows being sold out probably helps in that regard, but frankly whatever gets it done is cool. Plan is to get out of town after the show and put some distance between the van and the city to avoid morning traffic and allow for cheaper lodging. Should be groovy.

02.24.14 — 10:28PM Pacific — Monday night — Quality Inn, Arcata, CA

“Fuckin’ giant octopus…” — Aaron Bumpus

Today I saw the sun for the first time in what seemed like at least four months, and I’m not sure I can properly explain how good it felt. Not just the last two days of rain in the Pacific Northwest, but just the whole winter back home has been so soul-retchingly grim. It’s February and I stood outside today without a hoodie on. Whatever else happened, the day was going to be a win from the word go. The tour had an off-date, but with last night having been Portland and tomorrow being San Francisco, it was travel the whole day. That’s not the last time that’s going to happen on this run.

Wasn’t terrible, in any case. Most of the drive I spent nerding out on the landscape, which was deeply, richly beautiful, with tree-lined mountains, properties cut into the forest in straight lines like a border about to be eaten by a wave. So fucking cool. Mountains all over the place, people nowhere. Wonderful, gorgeous land. One hardly thinks of loading into a sprinter van with six other dudes as a way to feel refreshed, but that’s where I was at this afternoon as we made our way south through Oregon. Here we are, rolled into a truck stop in the middle of nowhere. There’s the Subway, there’s the Pilot, there’s the porn shack, there’s Kings Destroy picking up a sixer for the road, and here’s me taking pictures in the parking lot like it’s National Geographic. Still, the sky and the mountains had me well enamored.

Jim Pitts had his work cut out for him on the drive, though Steve took over for a while as well after signing a form, taking a picture of it on his phone and sending it to who knows where. We came south down the 205 out of Portland, romantic visions of the Hawthorne Theatre and surrounding area still lingering in my head to go with my ringing ears, then picked up 99 to 199 in Grant’s Pass, which looked like a cool little town. Sort of these hippie enclaves along the way, people for whom getting away from other people was clearly a priority. Very secluded, some small shops outside of town. One place that made custom treehouses that were particularly righteous. I’m not sure that I’d be able to give up my kneejerk New Jersey prick bred-in anger and restlessness long enough to live that way for any real stretch of time, but it’s a lifestyle I envy.

Late afternoon/early evening found the van on winding roads in the hills, headed toward the coast. The kinds of turns you either take slow or slam into the side of a mountain. By the time we got into California and picked up the 101 at around exit 800, about five hours after starting out, I was starting to drag a bit, but a quick pit stop after coming through some crazy mountain tunnel provided respite. I think everyone got increasingly worn down from there by the drive, but best to keep going. Saw some redwood trunks in the forest, but it was dark by then, so not much more, and nothing really of the water except the blackness where it would’ve been by day and stars overhead. We got to this motel in Arcata, CA, a little bit before 8:30PM, checked in, ate at the Mexican place next door — which officially closed at nine, but were very accommodating all the same — for food and drink. Flautas and iced tea. West Coast Mexican food demolishes the vast majority of what’s available back home, though obviously there are exceptions on both sides. As a general rule though, the standard is higher. The East Coast has pizza though, which isn’t nothing. Talk was of hardcore days gone by, bands, shows, people, scenes, etc. I know next to nothing about any of it, but it’s interesting.

Steve had said something about hitting a beach early in the morning and I think C-Wolf and Jim Pitts were going to go as well, but I’m more inclined to crash out for as long as possible. I got to sleep after four last night and the fire alarm at the motel in Portland went off a little after seven because some doofus left his waffle in the iron too long. Sleep in the van is just about out of the question so far, though I was dozing by the time we pulled into Arcata, so I’ll take what I can get however I can get it. Tomorrow night is DNA Lounge in San Fran, and then on to Albuquerque. I’m looking forward to seeing the Pacific coast again during the day and to the show as well. It’s not an insubstantial trip, but it’s going fast. Tomorrow is Tuesday already and we leave on Saturday. Between, more mountains, forest, desert, rock and roll. I feel lucky to be here, immensely thankful to have been invited.

02.24.14 — 12:07AM Pacific — Sun. night / Mon. morning — Hawthorne Theater, Portland, OR

“Everybody gets a trophy at the Hawthorne Theatre…” — JJ Koczan

Oh, Portland. Portland, baby. 15’s my limit on schnitzengruben. You are making a German spectacle of yourself. It would be real easy to get spoiled living in this town. Quite a night. Quite a show. Pentagram had an amp blow out or something and the crowd was still going nuts. Pressed up against a metal railing at the front of the stage, I was reminded of younger days, a straight-line bruise along the bottom of the rib cage from being up front at silly shows. This was a young audience. They were into it. You kids and your doom.

Everything was a little more dead on tonight, as expected. Getting past the first show seems to have allowed for a certain amount of tension to abate. The three touring bands were tighter — no small feat after last night — and the local openers, Mothers Whiskey and Sons of Huns, both drew and performed well. Sold out show. Again, one could get spoiled.

I’ll try and make it quick again since it’s midnight and I’ve got actual job work to do:

Mothers Whiskey

Was talking with Mothers Whiskey guitarist/vocalist Greg Powers before the show and he mentioned he’s an East Coast guy, from Maryland. I don’t know that I would necessarily have picked it out in his approach had he not said it, but he had some of that post-Sixty Watt Shaman burl, though tempered obviously by the pervasive mellow of his current surroundings. Thus, Mothers Whiskey were a solid bicoastal blend, unpretentious and laid back, but still with an insistent undertone. Pretty clear they’re figuring out their sound, but their dynamic was solid, particularly on closer “Scorpion Moon Burn,” which carried that Southern heavy influence across smoothly.

Sons of Huns

The first band I’ve seen on this tour in which no single member had a full beard. Nonetheless, a local trio who’ve made a splash with their recent Banishment Ritual release, Sons of Huns were clearly known to the crowd. It was an all-ages show, and they skewed young, which never hurts, but they made their chops plain enough to see, guitarist Pete Hughes busting out solos that I read as an opening volley soon enough to be returned by Radio Moscow while sharing vocal duties with bassist Shoki Tanabe, who switched to a fretless about halfway through the set. Drummer Ryan Northrop was the anchor, but nothing was really holding Sons of Huns back as they gave the yet-unnamed post-Millennial generation a reason to relish Kyuss-style riffing.

Kings Destroy

Since I was in the van this afternoon with them, I know the literal miles Kings Destroy came for this show, but they do little justice to how many miles more comfortable they seemed on stage. Guitarists Chris Skowronski and Carl Porcaro were shoving and kicking, almost daring each other to fuck up, while bassist Aaron Bumpus and drummer Rob Sefcik provided the foundation for their shenanigans and Steve Murphy turned his mic stand at one point into a harpoon and thrust it in the general direction of the crowd. They started a little early, so squeezed “Dusty Mummy” into a riff-heavy set that worked well after Sons of Huns, setting up a rock/doom back and forth that would continue into Radio Moscow and Pentagram. The vocals didn’t come across as clearly, but the new song, “Embers,” was tighter tonight as well.

Radio Moscow

Doesn’t matter how many nights this tour goes, I don’t imagine I’m going to get tired of watching Radio Moscow make killing it look so easy. Two new songs in the set tonight, “Death of a Queen” and another one, plus “Rancho Tehama Airport,” which is also pretty recent, and where last night dipped back to the self-titled for “Frustrating Sound,” and that was certainly welcome as far as I’m concerned, I am not in the slightest about to complain about getting to know a couple new cuts ahead of the arrival of their new album, Magical Dirt, which seems to be slated for a spring release. Whenever it comes, the twists and turns in “Death of a Queen” are sure to be a highlight, as they were both in Seattle and at the Hawthorne, where they were met with due appreciation and then some by the all-ages set, who had youthful vigor on their side, and the 21-and-overs, who were sloshed. Suddenly the show felt very sold out, very packed in. No arguments though.

Pentagram

Yeah, and then Pentagram went on. Even before they took the stage, the push of people toward the front was fairly ridiculous. Bobby Liebling got cheers even as he walked out from the green room on the side of the stage, standing on a balcony and pointing at the crowd, obviously thrilled to see him. The place went off. Set was the same as last night — my only complaint with it is no “Walk in Blue Light,” but you can’t have everything — opening with “Nightmare Gown” from Be Forewarned and going into “Review Your Choices” before letting loose with “Forever My Queen” after what seemed to be some technical difficulty and on from there. It was during the latter (they were inadvertently switched at El Corazon, come to think of it), that being up front became an untenable situation and I did what any self-respecting adult would do and fell backwards into the press to make my way through. At one point the strap of my bookbag with my laptop in it was hooked around some plastered girl’s arm who refused to give it up, but I was ready to pull her outside with me if necessary. Finally I shouted something about it actually being my bag and a light went on in her head and she let go. I was pretty well frazzled, but made my way to the back to watch more. True, it was the same deal as Seattle, but screw it. Every time you get to see Pentagram — with Victor Griffin on guitar especially — it’s the right way to go, though I’ll admit that when they got down to the encore of “Be Forewarned” into “Wartime,” I was listening from outside.

Loadout, well, didn’t go quite as smoothly as last night. There was a bit of waiting and when all the stuff was in the sprinter, it was established that we’d be hitting a bar called Chopsticks at the suggestion of some locals who were headed that way. Tomorrow is an off-day for the tour. Turns out the place was a Chinese restaurant in addition to a bar — they called it fast food but they were the best dumplings I’ve had since I moved out of New Jersey — and that the karaoke was going in full force. Chopsticks wasn’t as packed as the show, but it had a crowd, and they felt like dancing. It was 1:30AM by the time we got there and about 2:30AM by the time we left, and in between is a blur of irony-overload ’80s hits sung by an assortment pulled from the almost-entirely-white assemblage. One guy did “Aqualung,” and nailed it, but the rest was Tears for Fears, Michael Jackson and the like.

Many laughs, many drinks, some dim sum, and no one was quite as sloppy as they semi-apologized for being. I think on some level it’s weird for these dudes that I’m here and that I’m writing as I’m here, like an embed. I know they’ve seen some of what’s been posted, and it’s not that they’re being guarded — at one point tonight I rechristened the band “Kings Destroyed,” so if there were guards, they went on break and didn’t come back — but my concern is not harshing anyone’s good time by making them feel like they’re being watched.

Anyway. There was talk of a James Brown hot tub party when we got back to the motel by the airport where we’re staying, but it was to bed almost immediately. Steve gets his own room, Carl and I share (even at his worst so far, which might be right now, he’s nowhere near the worst snorer with whom I’ve shared a hotel room), Rob and Aaron, and C-Wolf and Jim Pitts. We’re all in a row on the 200 level of the Clarion with a noon checkout tomorrow and a drive to San Francisco to follow. It’s now four in the morning. Something tells me we won’t be getting an early start.

02.23.14 — 5:09PM Pacific — Sunday — Hawthorne Theatre, Portland, OR

“Whole lotta open space…” — Jim Pitts

Ride down from Seattle was pretty straightforward after a breakfast at the bar where the band couldn’t get served the other night on account of Aaron having forgot his ID. 13 Coins, near the airport. It was about two hours south on the I-205 (I think) with mountains and old growth evergreens around. Lots of grey, periodic rain, but the landscape is beautiful. Trees were impressive, traffic sparse. There’s wifi in the van, so as this was the shortest trip to be made over the course of the next six days, that will no doubt come in handy for passing the time. I still haven’t managed to find a book and/or a bookstore, though I hear there’s one near here that’s supposed to be where it’s at.

Ditto that for Portland as a whole, I suppose. Very colorful city for sitting under such a grey sky. I think the grocery store across the street from the Hawthorne was the brightest thing I’ve seen since last June. Easy to read the city as a creative space. I’m not sure how much more downtown it gets than where we are, but if this was it, there’s a cool vibe. To wit, the specials in the side bar/small-stage room here at the Hawthorne include the “Ian MacKaye,” which is Schilling Cider and orange juice, the “Neck Tattoo” and the “Earth Crisis.” There’s also a Modelo vending machine. Hard to gauge which is the symptom and which the underlying cause there, but then I’ve only been in town about 25 minutes.

Soundtrack on the way down was the self-titled The Meters record and then a double-disc collection of James Brown instrumentals. Horns and swing for days. I dig it. Pretty quiet in the van apart from what was the hardest working backing band in show business, but some laughs at references to Anchorman, Fast Times, Mystery Science Theater 3000, some other staples. Several running gags in the making, I think, and a few apparently held over from prior tours. Paul Stanley’s stage raps feature heavily, and rightly so. Portlandia references have been flowing freely as well, owing to the geography.

Radio Moscow were here a bit ago but seem to have moved on, probably to find food. We passed Pentagram on the highway, so they’re en route. In the spirit of last night, tonight’s also a five-band bill, with Sons of Huns and Mothers Whiskey opening. There’s a balcony that I’m thinking might be cool to try to get some pictures from if I can. Show’s almost sold out, so I don’t know how much space there will be to move around. Still, I expect good times and a little bit more of a relaxed mood as the tour sort of settles into itself. It’s a nice big stage, too, so the Mad Alchemy lights should be in their element. I’m looking forward to it.

02.23.14 — 12:47AM Pacific — Sat. Night — El Corazon, Seattle, WA

“High drama…” — Steve Murphy

I’m going to try to make this quick, because my laptop clock says 3:47AM and I can’t help but feel like that’s accurate. Tonight at El Corazon in Seattle. First night of the tour. Weather as advertised. Volume as advertised. Doom of many shapes. Place filled up as the night went on. A special cheers to the giant who decided it was fun to dig in elbows up front during Pentagram.

Tonight was a five-band bill. One of several that I know of on this run. Front to back and jetlagged, it was a hell of a way to start the tour. Good crowd though, unless you count the aforementioned giant. Which I do. In bruises.

Here’s how it went down:

Ancient Warlocks

I know the deal is the tour and the touring bands, and I’m way down with that or I wouldn’t be here in the first place, but I was really glad I got to see Ancient Warlocks play. I also got to meet guitarist/vocalist Aaron Krause and guitarist Darren Chase and it was good for the soul. Their easy-rolling fuzz and trad-stoner grooving must have been a good match tonally for Mars Red Sky a few years back when they teamed up, but they were locked in and not at all out of place on the stage. When I asked Chase if they had any copies of their album to buy, he said they were sold out. It was easy to see why when they played.

Lesbian

They were a late add to the lineup, but a welcome one. Lesbian crossed genre lines fluidly and touched on black metal, doom and even some thrash with natural ease. They’re the kind of band that, if I lived in this town, I’d probably go see a lot, but as it is, this was the first time. Even after Ancient Warlocks loaded their gear off the stage, there was a considerable wall of amps, and I think an entire layer in that wall belonged to Lesbian. Hard to argue with the density of sound they were able to elicit from them, two guitars and bass running in gleeful aural excess. Bassist/vocalist Dorando Hodous said their last song — unless I’m mistaken about this — was about a “really horny dinosaur.” I didn’t catch the title, but it fucking ruled.

Kings Destroy

At this point, I feel comfortable saying I’ve seen Kings Destroy more than any band in the last three years. If that’s not true — and it is, by a mile — then it certainly will be by the end of this trip. Tonight was the first night of the tour, and it took them a song or two to click, but somewhere right around a new song called “Embers” that has, among other things, the most complex vocal melody I’ve heard from the band, they locked it in and were full-throttle the rest of the five-song set. “The Mountie” into “Casse-Tete” worked well to open, but once they slammed into “The Toe,” I think they made a lot of new friends. Leaving the rest of the band on stage, vocalist Steve Murphy hopped down into the crowd for closer “Blood of Recompense,” walking away when the song was over and handing the mic to a random guy in the crowd who, as he told his friends after putting it back on the stage, was tempted to make a dick joke, but decided against it.

Radio Moscow

Radio Moscow had the leg up. On the universe, it seemed, but at least on the other two touring acts, since they’d already had a couple gigs under their belt over the last few nights. It’s a crazy change in vibe to have the San Diego-based trio playing between Kings Destroy and Pentagram, but they hit into “I Just Don’t Know” from 2011’s Brain Cycles and the room, which by then was packed out, was theirs. They also brought the Mad Alchemy light show with them, though the oils were going for all the bands and I guess will be for the duration of the tour. Not going to complain, and it works especially well for Radio Moscow, who tossed in a new song full of intricate starts and stops that served as a reminder of how ridiculously tight the band’s rhythm section, bassist Anthony Meier and drummer Paul Marrone are, though it’s guitarist/vocalist Parker Griggs who takes the bulk of the solos, each one earned and soaked in wah.

Pentagram

I don’t care who you are or what you’ve seen, watching Pentagram play “Forever My Queen” is one of the great joys of doom. When I came back from dinner before the show started, I got to watch some of their soundcheck, so I knew “Be Forewarned” was coming — you might say I was forewarned — but “8” from Last Rites and “Dying World” from the self-titled were cool to hear alongside staples like “Sign of the Wolf (Pentagram),” “All Your Sins” and “When the Screams Come.” While they were setting up their gear, someone in the crowd looked up and said, “Holy shit, it’s Victor Griffin!” and that about sums it up. His tone and Bobby Liebling‘s frontman presence are a rightfully legendary combo, and even though it was the first night of their tour as well, they sent the Seattle crowd into the evening well aware of who and what they had just seen. The current Pentagram lineup, with Griffin, Liebling, bassist Greg Turley and drummer Sean Saley already sounded like pros, but I’ll be really interested to see where they’re at by the time we roll into San Francisco.

—

We loaded out the gear from El Corazon about as fast as we could and on the way back out to the Red Roof Inn, I asked Jim Pitts to stop the van so I could jump out and take a picture of the Space Needle. No regrets. Tomorrow morning, 11AM, we head to Portland. It’s after 3:30AM now. I think everyone was a little more relaxed with the first show down. Myself included.

02.22.14 — 4:16PM Pacific — Saturday — El Corazon, Seattle, WA

“You could auction this moment…” — Chris Skowronski

Woke up at about seven this morning (on this time) and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up and went downstairs. Had some coffee and sat for a bit in the Red Roof Inn lounge, which was where the muffins probably would’ve been if there’d been any. Back upstairs to bed until after 11AM, shower, then waiting to come here, basically. Rewatched last week’s episode of True Detective and some of the long-since-jumped-the-shark second season of Twin Peaks while Carl and Chris warmed up their guitars by jamming first along to Carl’s iPad and then on some new riffs. I’m not coming into this trip with any great romantic ideal about life on tour. My impression is it’s a lot of waiting, a lot of driving, and then shows. Dudes are out getting drinks and I’m sitting at the venue listening to music and waiting. Rob and I miss our dogs. Load-in was 4PM. With seven people, it didn’t take long.

Jim Pitts is a fucking pro. He seems like a good-natured guy on first impression and he definitely came prepared: Hand sanitizer, Febreeze, baby oranges, work gloves. Dude has it together. I have no idea how the Kings Destroy dudes got in touch with him, but he’s stepped into a wrangler mode that he’s obviously comfortable with. The van’s pretty cushy, which is fortunate because there are some long drives coming up. The one from the hotel was not much to speak of in length, but a first look at Seattle was interesting. People knew what they were doing with building a town by the time they got out here. Cities in the Northeast, — Philly, Boston especially, New York too once you’re out of Manhattan’s grid — feel like they just kind of happened. I guess because they did. There’s a reason states out here have square borders and the East Coast is shaped like fuckall.

No sign yet of anyone from the Pentagram or Radio Moscow camps. It is early. There are a few other vans around outside, but I don’t know who’s who. Ancient Warlocks go on at eight. El Corazon looks like a cool room. Wider than it is long, which I like. Big stage. Spirit Caravan are coming through here and the flyer has a picture of Shrinebuilder on it. Had a laugh at that, but the space itself is right on. Blue floor in the bar, black in the stage area, and there’s a smaller side room. I think there’s a six-band bill in there tonight. Five in here, so that’s a total of 11 bands in two rooms. I was trying to buy a bar in Boston over the last several months but it fell through. I could run a place like this. No prospects for doing so (anymore) or funding to make it happen, but if I could end up with a space like this, I’d do it forever.

We’re staying again at the Red Roof Inn. Not sure if there will be room for luggage in the back of the van with the amps and such, but if we have to rent a trailer, tomorrow’s the day to find it out with a relatively short trip to Portland. I feel anxious for the first night of the tour, which is odd since I’m not actually playing.

02.21.14 — 11:30PM Pacific — Friday — Red Roof Inn, Seattle, WA

“On official review…” — Rob Sefcik

They say you find interesting things when you travel. I’ve found the neatest headache! Hit me about an hour into the flight and I immediately flashed back to Last Night Me, who, when he was packing his bags, couldn’t imagine any reason he might need the ibuprofen in his carry-on. What a jerk. Add your stereotypical screaming kid, some cramped quarters and flight attendants of all stripes and preoccupations bumping my shoulder on way by, and that’s basically the story of the flight. I put on the Young Hunter EP while we were landing and I was pretty sure it was going to crash the plane. At that point, I was ready.

I sat in a row with Carl and Steve from Kings Destroy, having met the band at the gate at JFK. Rob and Chris were a couple rows up and back, respectively, and Aaron was on the other side of the aisle from me. We were late taking off, but the sunset was expansive out the gate window, so you take the good with the bad. They’ve all gone off to a bar somewhere down the way. 13-something-or-other it’s called. I’ve turned on the AC and will shortly get myself some ice water and I dug out the ibuprofen and had a protein bar and I think that’ll do it for me. On their way out, Chris reminded me that “this is where the stories happen.” He’s not wrong, but something tells me I won’t be light on stories.

Carl had left his bag on the plane. The picture above was him after going back to get it. Spirits are high, laughs were had. Jim Pitts, who’s reportedly driving the van, was stuck in traffic and is due to arrive here at the Red Roof Inn shortly. I’m looking forward to meeting him. Steve informed he’s an oldschool hardcore dude. When I asked, “Who isn’t?” he rightly said, “You.” Touche. We took a shuttle over from the airport. I’ve seen no needles from space, no Robbie Cano. Tomorrow, I figure. Need to hit a bookstore as well. Forgot a book. Fucking amateur hour.

Back east, it’s coming up on three in the morning. I don’t know what the plan is for tomorrow, but then, I didn’t know what the plan was for tonight. I’m here though. I’ve never been in this city and I’m looking forward to seeing it by daylight, and I’m hardly out living it up, but at least I’m here. Feels like an accomplishment.

02.21.14 – 4:43PM Eastern – Friday – Gate B30, JFK International

“Your attention, please…” – Airport P.A.

I had never smelled anything so disgusting as Panda Express. Turned a corner and there it was, a punch of grease and ginger powder in the olfactory. Then I passed PizzaVino, which near as I can tell doesn’t actually serve wine. JFK looks like someone’s vision of a terrible Cold War post-nuclear-fallout future in progress. There is a man with a long grey goatee and one eye wandering lost. Pardon our appearance.

There’s a lot about this trip I don’t know yet. The bands I know: Pentagram, Radio Moscow, Kings Destroy, playing each night in that order. First show is tomorrow, Feb. 22 in Seattle, where we’re flying tonight. Lesbian and Ancient Warlocks are on the bill at El Corazon, which is good news because I’ve seen neither and I’d like to. After that Portland. After that, I’m not really sure. San Francisco, maybe. I could look it up, and probably will at some point. Transport, where we might stay on any given night, and so on. Much mystery.

Everyone in the airport looks like someone. Me too. I know I’m on the same flight as the Kings Destroy cats because it was the same reservation. Traffic was two hours-plus to get here from Jersey, and that’s not counting the four hours to get from Massachusetts to NJ last night. Quite a commute. I have no doubt it will be worth it when I land and whatever it is that’s supposed to be happening happens. The weather is shit until then and I think Lee Renaldo just walked past with an entourage. That would fill my New York quota probably for the rest of the year. A member of Sonic Youth: 300 points.

Last time I was at this airport was at least eight years ago. I had a friend who was coming back from war. In uniform, the whole bit. He had a layover here at some absurd hour of the morning – maybe eight? We drive out here to see him. I was so hungover that as we were driving up I opened the door and puked out the side of the car. Then he poured shots of whiskey. At eight in the morning. He’s a lawyer now.

Flight’s at 6:35PM. Time to spare.