P&N tour wrap-up: Melvin becomes the avocado

I write to you now from a basement as old as your grandmother, and with similar smells. This is the magical, post-tour land known as Medical Records, where many a starving rock musician has traveled in pursuit of the fabled Paycheck upon returning from a musical crusade.

So I disappeared from Internet Writing Land during our stay at SXSW, where in all honestly I experienced my first bout of quite literally being too tired to write, think or, on particularly problematic days, even poop. And it was all amazing, with the logical caveat being that SXSW is a colossal clusterfuck and can't possibly be even remotely fun for the majority of people who live in Austin. But it was my first time and I got to play 3 day parties, plus after two of those shows we went crazy and drove to another city to play a nighttime show, so it was always an incredibly rewarding form of exhaustion. On one particular day we played a SXSW show at 3pm, packed immediately after the set and drove 6 hours south to McAllen, TX, where we played at the after party for a festival that Of Montreal headlined, and the people of McAllen were some of the world's greatest living humans.

The last week of tour got hot 'n sweaty, and unfortunately I was severely bummed to discover that the place we placed in Houston on 3/17 (called Fitzgerald's!) was labeling the show as a St. Patrick's Day party, yet DID NOT SERVE GUINNESS. No, I'm still not over it. Thankfully, later that night we crashed with lovely friends who had a real live domesticated pig named Orson, and they also wanted to burn a couch in a bonfire, so my spirits got quite a boost.

Let's see, after that we then enjoyed another hot tub, this one in Pensacola on a drive day to the Orlando show. Speaking of Orlando, we learned that certain locals enjoy wearing their hearts on their sleeves, angrily bawling when Miniature Tigers decide not to play certain older songs in their set. And then this person later decides to demand that the opening band's drummer (ie yours truly) find Miniature Tigers' manager so that she can express her "concern for the band's new direction."

Upon arriving in Atlanta the next day we realized that Orlando was probably going to be the last venue to be prepared and have the A/C on. I spent the last few days trying to soak everything in, wanting both to be back in my own bed and also tour forever. Between a hotel in North Carolina and my parents place in DC we had it pretty swell bed-and hospitality-wise; it was just enough luxury to convince myself that staying up after the Philly show and driving back to Boston was a good idea (it was).

Anyway, what a seriously ridiculous month. Time for my sappy but true closing: I don't think I can properly express how lucky I feel to have been able to travel the whole USofA playing drums. 15 year old me would have fainted out of pure joy, and 28 year old me came pretty close!

P&N Week 2: kevin becomes a real boy

The long, slow haul back across the country is now in full swing. Let's just say I had an equally awesome and rough time last night, though certainly I've had worse evenings! This time it was a very nice bartender in Tucson and several free glasses of wine and whiskey that eventually added up to Jeremy needing to pull the van over so I could have a detailed look at the beautiful Arizona vegetation by moonlight. It's possible I sat in a cactus.

Anyway, I'm all set now after a solid night's sleep, coffee, and ibuprofen. The wonders of our universe, folks. So let's see, after SF I got to hang with my good friend from Boston Big Mike, aka Miguel Grande, aka Le Grand Michel, who is one of the world's greatest living humans. Then Jeremy and I crashed at our buddy Moy's excellent pad in the Mission, where he treated us to grapes the sizes of plums and other assorted veggies. Sunday's show at the Troubadour in LA sold out and was totally surreal, easily one of the coolest shows I've ever played; plus afterward I got to hang with my amazing LA friend Cori, then for Miniature Tigers' encore a bunch of us swarmed the stage, thundered along on extra drums and my brain exploded. We had a day off Monday, which we spent eating In N Out and appreciating hotel pools & hot tubs thanks to lovely generous friends. At some point Holden passed out on my lap.

San Diego was strange and wonderful; we randomly met a fellow Walsh who was kind enough to let us crash at his place, and his chef roommate whipped a ridiculous duck cassoulet out of her back pocket. Seriously.

Now we're chilling at Charlie from Miniature Tigers' father's place near Phoenix (jesus that's an awkward sentence - AH, a parenthetical!). Tonight's the Crescent Ballroom and if the food there is half as good as everyone has been saying I'll be a very happy camper. Actually I'm already happy, so... hmm I'll have to think about that one.

Ok I lied; I forgot to work in a Harry Potter reference and don't feel like going back.

WINGARDIUM LEVIOSAAAAA -- god, I'm a nerd. SORRY.

Pretty & Nice travel times

            WELL folks, Pretty & Nice's unlaundered bottoms have made it across the country. We met up with the Modern Art tour in Seattle on Thursday and got to meet our tourmates Chain Gang of 1974, Geographer, and our good buddies Miniature Tigers. Lots of friendly talented dudes -- gonna be a killer, easy tour. Even though we’ve played a few shows of our own along the way, I got these first-night-of-tour-jitters right before we got on stage in Seattle. They went poof! soon as we started playing but it was weirdly cool in a way.

The past few days have had a couple really cool rock n roll things take place: like driving from Denver to Provo to stay with a kind gentlemen Holden and Roger met through Turntable.fm (ie. they met a stranger online); walking into said gentleman’s house where his roommates had just started Shindler’s List, so as we decompressed from the drive we got to see a couple brutal executions before going to eat delicious burgers; picking up t-shirts we had mailed to Bret Nelson from Built to Spill (who, amazingly, is a friend and fan of the band) in Boise, drinking several beers with Mr. Nelson while he locked down a last minute show for us in town; ending the night somehow in a hot tub, which belonged to the girlfriend of our friend Brian from the band Faux Bois (who are excellent); and driving through whiteout conditions over frightening mountain passes and listening to Holden express true fear (and why not one more parenthetical?).

Next we enjoyed the shortest van ride so far, Seattle to Portland, wandered Portland hunting for necessities like delay pedals and drippy, pants-ruining tacos, before playing a mammoth cavern doubling as a music venue/nightclub. It's always weird hearing your snare boomerang off the brick walls and having it hit you in the forehead just after you actually hit the drum. Best part of the night for me was seeing my sister and her husband, whom I get to see basically once or twice a year (cue: aww). Next thing I know, Faux Brian apparated from Boise to Oregon and was putting us up in another house, where apparently the washers and dryers play little jingles even when you don't use them. 

Four hours of sleep and 11 hours driving later and we're in SF about to max this stage to the EXTREME. I think we're finally settling into travel mode and getting all cozy. Next thing I write will have fewer parentheticals and more Harry Potter references. Week 1's done -- POOF!