Missouri is the River of the World

Plowing across Missouri’s playing field from its Western goal post in Kansas City to its Eastern one in St. Louis, we became lethargic and slow. Like wading through heavy cream in woolen dungarees, I could barely summon the power to leave the van and stretch my legs. Too many beers, burgers, pizzas and gas station snacks combined with too little exercise, lack of sleep and too few vegetables made me feel like a broken piece of equipment.

For a shot in the arm, I called my friend Dave Boutette from a rest area outside of Columbia. Dave always has a lifting effect on me and it’s easy to get caught up in his laid-back Midwestern frame of mind. I mentioned that we were on our way to play Cicero’s in St. Louis. He recalled getting fucked up there at a Junk Monkeys gig and falling down a flight of stairs trying to lift a bass cabinet. His bandmates patched him up as he fell in and out of consciousness and he eventually woke up sore and hungover on the curb in front of the house where the band was staying at 4am. I don't think that many people know what a rocker he is/was.

For about 60 miles, we saw signs for a shop called Nostalgiaville U.S.A. I figured I could find subject matter for my next 30 songs there, but the band chose Taco Bell instead and the only nostalgia I felt was for the legit tacos I ate in Texas.

I was still running on reserve power through our brief stop at the hotel and load-in at Cicero’s. Greg and I walked down the street and bought a couple of coffees and poked around a very nice record store on Delmar St. called Vintage Vinyl. I cried for the money I didn’t have and wanted to spend.

On my way back to the club, I passed a small diner and something caught my eye. Koreans! Every stool at the counter held a Korean patron and the cook was a Korean. Sure enough, next to the American menu was another one carrying the delicious staples of the Korean diet. Jamie and Scott were already in there and I joined them for a revitalizing bowl of Bibimbap. "Vitamin B3” is one of my favorite dishes and its mix of vegetables, hot sauce, egg and beef gave me the boost I needed for the gig.

Cicero’s is a pizza joint in front and a venue in back. The sound is impeccable, the beer list extensive and the staff treats touring bands well. We played second after local opener Superfun Yeah Yeah Rocketship. His one-man-band, comedy and dance act to pre-recorded laptop routine wasn’t something we hadn’t seen before, but his songs were a bit raunchier than some of the other acts I’d seen in that style. I actually found it really enjoyable and funny.

I thought our set was one of the best of the tour and I felt my post show non-drink-ticket premium beer was well earned. Our new tourmates My Dear Disco once again flashed their unbelievable chops and played a sweet set to the growing crowd. The Hard Lessons celebrated the release of their new limited edition 7” on St. Louis label Euclid Records. They played the A and B sides and killed it. This was one of my favorite shows yet.

With a 12am curfew to the all ages show, we were out of there by 12:30am… a friendly hour for once. Old drinking men like early shows.

Cheers!
Timothy Monger

SXGLMSW: Day Three

Jamie: Saturday morning was spent injecting Holiday Inn coffee, bananas and cinnamon rolls into our collective orifices before heading into town for a last minute show at the "Dirty Dog". What Tim failed to mention in his previous entry concerning the Blow-Hole lounge was the fact that I spent the five hours leading up to our 1:00 AM slot in the back of the van dry heaving into a granola bar box lined with plastic pilfered from case of Pringles and Vicks medicated kleenex--Apparently, my BBQ breakfast, Taco lunch and Pho dinner could find no common ground in the United Nations of my stomach, and instead of just up and leaving the premises, the American, Mexican and Vietnamese embassies decided to set fire to my colon, take hostages and dig in for a private revolution. Needless to say, the next morning found me foul. That bitterness was assuaged by a relatively easy drive into the Hot Topic-infested money pit that is 6th street and a tequila, Negro Modelo and pizza lunch. The venue was one of those rare SXSW rooms that actually hosts music year-round as opposed to throwing a PA and a soundman into a corner normally reserved for Corona, Kanye and date rape (Soho Lounge). We played at 2:00 to a crowd of 10 or 15 people and a soundguy that was as sick of hearing 25 bands at the same time as we were and played our best (and most fun) show of the weekend.

Scott: Our buddy Doug Prince came by the gig to rescue us from the legions of male Joan Jetts and took us out of town to a tex-mex joint with fantastic margaritas, edible flowers and no live bands. After that, it was back to his house for Jameson snowcones and dog love. Doug has a couple pooches of his own but their ranks were bolstered by two awesome greyhounds that he was taking care of for a friend. They were rescues, and the sweetest, gentlest dogs we'd encountered in some time. Those of us missing pets got a nice fix over there for sure, but a couple days of daytime drinking and sun exposure made us all feel like college freshmen trippin' balls at a 'Summer Reggae Splash' or something. Spent, we headed back to our digs in Pflugerville and, honestly, I forget when we went to bed. It was damn early by our standards, at any rate. All I remember was Fido slipping out for a "late night snack" while everyone else passed out - leaving me to ponder the odd-assed bands featured on Austin cable access and to settle in for a half hour of "World's Slowest Fucking Car Crashes" (or something) before giving up and hitting the sheets.

Some Photos:

SXGLMSW: Day Two

Austin, the great foot-killer. With a 1am showtime at the SoHo Lounge looming in our distant future, we arrived downtown at noon. Killing time and watching bands for 13 hours should be effortless and fun, right? By 7pm we were sleeping in the van, sacked out barefoot on curbs and trying to force water into our abused, beer-soaked, brisket-heavy bodies.

In between, I managed to catch half-songs by about 10 bands whose names I never learned, eat a bunch of random street food, lend my skateboard to a nice English couple and weasel my way into the Spin day party at Stubb's. I had a great FAIL moment after skating like mad back and forth between the Hilton and Stubb's with the Spin passes only to arrive as Justin Hawkins shredded his last note and yelled "Thank you, good night!" The former Darkness frontman's new band Hot Leg was one of the only bands I really wanted to see at the festival. My disappointment was lessened a few hours later when I got to see Echo & the Bunnymen at the same party. Perry Farrell introduced a pea coat clad Ian McCulloch and the rest of the band and they still sounded damn good.

Our showcase eventually began and we all did what was necessary to generate energy and summon rock spirit for our set. We followed a shredding set by labelmates The Hard Lessons and played hard to the late crowd. The mix was blisteringly loud and not entirely pleasant. I felt pretty good about the set, but I fear we may have fallen victim to an abrasive, crappy mix. Still, friends were in abundence and the weather was fine. The Captain drove his sleepy charges back to tranquil Pflugerville.

Some Photos:

Tired Festival Wrist

Scott at rest in back of the van

Greg's Analog Blog - Part 1

Greg will be blogging by typewriter and ink while on tour. Here is his first entry.

SXGLMSW: Day One

Jamie: Downtown Austin is a giant, used van dealership. All across America, parking spots long sought after by commoners have opened up, as every shitty extended-cab, trailer-hitched, muffler-dragging excuse for a "band vehicle" is currently occupying every last inch of pavement. After a nearly two hour, post-load-in search for a spot to park "The Nutz", we met up with the Michigan militia at Red 7 for a few pre-show cocktails. The kind of cocktails that come in a tall can.

Fido: Whether served inside or on the patio, cradled by a koozie or clutched in a sweaty fist--yes sir, the barley pop did its job. And the Jameson shots came like a bossman at the end of your double-shift, demanding those damned TPS reports. Thanks, Andy. It's a good thing we enjoy the company of people, since there was a veritable shitload of them. Hipsters who shouldn't attempt beards, beards disguised as fickle women, loquacious businessmen, sunburned basement-dwellers & kickass bands from Los Angeles, all swimming on both sides of the fishbowl. Leaving was like coming up for air & tasting barbecued smog. Where else to go but Bill Miller's? The chicken-fried steak was worth watching my friends eat from across the room. Really--after so much quality time trapped in MegaNutz with those boys, is there a better vantage point? Twitter me now.

Captain Feeling: Why the animosity about beards, Fido? As I recall you, Tim and Scott all sported assorted degrees of facial hair throughout the Winter.

Tim: Yes, I sported a beard this Winter. I enjoyed it for about a month, but I don't think it's meant for me year-round. Back to this evening, though. Following the Bill Miller bar-b-que, I checked the outdoor pool for about an hour and was disappointed each time to find other people enjoying it. How dare they! I felt tired and curmudgeonly and wanted to be the sole swimmer. With Doug and Greg remaining downtown, seeing friends and bands, I felt lame recuperating back at the Pflugerville Holiday Inn. I thought a sulk in the pool might help my tired state. After 40 seconds in the frigid water, I returned refreshed and ready to stay in for the night. Old Forester Signature Bourbon has provided nightcap after nightcap, though tomorrow I look forward to finally connecting with the surprisingly large group of friends prowling the streets of Austin this week.

Some Photos:

Parade of band vans at SXSW

Andy Garris sighting in Austin

Promo at Red 7

Our tour itinerary folder

Watching Van Halen in Memphis with Bruce Pates

So we're watching a sweet Van Halen bootleg video from 2007 at point and shoot photographer god Bruce Pate's rock and roll shrine in Memphis. We've each had a beer for every hour we were on the road today. And Eddie fucking Van Halen is still so sweet. So sweet in fact we will stop quickly tomorrow at the Fender custom shop in Nashville to have locking tremelos put on all GLMS guitars. Hopefully we will make it to Austin in time.

Cug Doombe

El Capitan Learns Emergency

As you may have read below, Fido has already hallucinated of Van Halen, specifically of missing Alex Van Halen's drum solo. At what show, I can't be sure. This development is always troublesome, as clearly Van Halen has never toured with the gentlemen in GLMS.

That the gentlemen talked all day of their plans for a new band, titled Mantique -- a name saved for the group's planned ensemble of the future, when they are all senior citizens -- makes me worry even more. I am the bus driver, not the psychologist nor caretaker.

It is good, I suppose, that I have talked myself into bringing, for the first time, a rig on the road wherein I can blog to the public, which means I am also able to use the Google, which further means I may be able to look up the band memeber's ailments and help the members stay "straight" (as it were) before each performance on the tour.

Sadly (and the source of my allusion to what is so troublesome) the gentlemen of GLMS have yet to play their first show of the tour.

I am newish to the Google, and all I can find when I enter "hallucination Van Halen" into the search engine is:

Visual Hallucination - What Does VH Stand for?

Sadly, this only upsets my grammatical sensibility. Should it not be rephrased:

Visual Hallucination - For What Does VH Stand

Confused, worried, and contemplative,
Captain Feeling