Canada/West Coaster: Part III

7/26: Los Angeles

Nothing pairs better with a hangover than early morning government bureaucracy.  Before leaving San Francisco, we had to get all our paperwork together to bring into the Russian consulate, as there isn’t one within 1,000 miles of our hometown.  I’ll spare you dicks the gritty details, but let’s just say we spent a couple of hours navigating the Russian bureaucratic equivalent of the agro crag from Guts.  Hopefully we’ll take home a piece of that radical rock (get visas) and we’ll be in Russia this September.  Stoker.

So after a sweltering and traffic-addled drive southward, we arrived in Hollywood.  Imagine our excitement as we took in all the sights!  We saw a guy dressed up in a homemade (out of vacuum parts) Optimus Prime suit hanging out with probably-homeless Batman on Sunset Blvd, a hobo with business cards, at least 20 Ferraris driven by what we have to assume are total dicks, and I saw a restaurant for dogs

crowded with just an enormous gaggle of trophy wives with fake boobs.  We finally made our way through the topsy-turvy, oceanic swathe of LA douchebaggery to arrive at The Troubadour, which is easily the most rad and legendary club Elway has ever played.  Local bros Margate were by far the best practiced and executed band of the night, tearing through their set with recording-worthy accuracy.  We were up next and by comparison just basically took a shit on the stage.  People were having fun though, and it was great to see some people singing along.  At one point Joe’s bass stopped working, so he set it down and dove into the crowd to start the most crucial of pits.  Sick dicks.  Dopamines played a rad set, and TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation that erupted in pogoing circle pits and projectile beers.  Big ups to the staff at The Troubadour for giving us our own green room and beers; shit was clutch.

7/27: San Diego

After sweating to hours of disk break harmonies in LA traffic we B-lined it to Ocean Beach in San Diego. Waiting with bare feet on hot gum scuffed pavement we met up with Ryan from Nothington who showed us the shortest route to some of the raddest ocean water I’ve ever been in. Ducking or body surfing the massive warm waves we ventured down the restaurant and novelty item strewn street shores to find some burritoage. We drove south to the venue and walked to a sports bar where we were spanked with a hazing paddle by a nice lady named Kristy.  

The venue was a 100 capacity bar called the shakedown – a venue far smaller than we had been playing with a stage far closer to the ground. For a band that has normally only plays bottle necked bars and basements we felt right at home. In addition when asking the bar tender what our wrist bands got us he gave a sideways look and a half contemplated “…anything.” Needless to say, we were stoked! The show started later than expected which contributed to the pandemonium that was a sold out show with extra names on the marquee such as the Bomb Pops and Tilt Wheel.  Unable to set up and store our gear anywhere near the packed out venue we hauled everything through a narrow body lined doorway and played the first punk show of tour. The crowd was sweaty and stoked jammed wall to bar (granted that

distance was about 15 feet) getting rowdy to all the bands. At one point the bar tender climbed over the bar to jam a bottle in the mouths of the dirt turkey Dopamines so they would quit heckling the audience to buy them shots between every song. The aftermath of the show was the pre-mature conclusion to the whole tour for it would leave us in a 2 day hang over and equivalent to an animatronic chucky cheese band.

Our ears perked to the rumors of “pool party.” We hunted the source and found these fantastical words to be truth. Apparently some great dudes regularly hosted bands at their place and were totally okay with a bunch of bands being obnoxious in their backyard. With Joe sober and annoyed at the wheel the rest of hollered what this pool party forecast only shutting up for the drinking of TBR’s green room salsa and potato chips. The pool had exceeded all of our hopes and dreams. The drunken oasis was one carved out of fake stone, complete with fire pit, basketball hoop, hot tub, and even water slide, accompanied by 2 cubes of cheap bear and the dreaded remains of the torso size bottle of Jameson. Immediately disrobing until our skivvies we managed to pack almost a dozen dudes into a lukewarm hot tub. A combination of body heat, Jamison, farts, love, and someone finding the button to the jets heated it quickly. Some entered the pool, making clutch dunks and provoking a robot pool suction monster. The rest gathered around the fire warming bare skin and trading stories from the road. Upon emptying the cubes and passing the giant bottle via fate of the tub jets we gathered in the kitchen for acoustic cover songs and pretzels. Some lined the carpeted spaces with sleeping bags while dawn shed light on the crushed can and wet clothes wreckage for a few others.

-Garrett

7/28: Scottsdale, Arizona

Our bodies writhing in pain from the previous night/morning’s mission to party harder than anyone else on the entire Earth, we ambled forth using the minimal propulsion from beer and burrito farts that coated our van’s innards with a thin sheen of vile residue.  The infernal heat of the high Californian and Arizonan desert turned our van into an oven which baked the sweat from our pores like the worst smelling sauna ever imaginable.  We arrived in Scottsdale at the venue, unloaded our gear, and proceeded to a nearby vegan spot called Green.  With the lumbering gait of full blown mongoloids caked in thick layers of tour filth, we approached the counter tended by one of the most beautiful women human procreation has ever concocted.  After ordering and consuming one of the best vegan meals of tour (this is saying something) we invited her and her coworkers to the show.  I just can’t imagine why they didn’t show up.  Maybe it was because we looked and smelled like we were steeped for hours in ass sweat and embalming fluid.  Too bad.

The show must go on!  Openers Look Out Look were the most entertaining band that opened the whole tour.  It was awesome to see a band that gets so stoked and impassioned on stage.  We played next and worsened our own hangovers with the sound of our instruments.  Through the pounding headaches and gamble-farts that peppered the set, we were able to pull it together and we played pretty well, despite the demonic wafts of 105 degree Phoenix heat, newly humid from what locals acted like was the first rain in years.  The Dopamines played their first of the last two shows of the tour as a 3 piece, as Mikey Erg had to go whore himself out to another band for another tour.  They were pretty good.  TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation that erupted in pogoing circle pits and projectile beers.  The show came to an end and we crashed hard on the floor of a small child’s bedroom, courtesy of the wonderfully delightful Erica Harper.

7/29:  Albuquerque, New Mexico

After an abrupt awakening by the cackles and chortles of a rambunctious collection of toddlers, our good friend and FEST super-mom, Erica, fed us a healthy breakfast of fruit, coffee, and KIX. Elway tested, mother approved! Hangover recovery complete, we collected our things and made our farewells until halloween weekend. 

We opened the van door, only to realize the Arizona heat had resurrected recirculated old sweat and gastric inoculations into a thick sauna-like condensation. Given ample time to air out, we clambered inside to enjoy another 8 hour drive through the desert in the absence of air conditioning. The first world has never been so cruel.

We arrived in Albuquerque in time to gorge at a cheap taco cart and take full advantage of a 2 for $4 deal on 40oz Miller High Life's, a true delight for these frugal fucks.  Not to be slowed by atrocious dietary habits, we pick up our frisbee and made a wide spread through the parking lot to give the kids a show of athletic feats. We risked life and limb to catch and once again set assail the circular piece of plastic. Complete with spin-kick catches, front-flip throws, and athletic delusion, we shamed any Olympic competitor and kept the crowd clinging to the edge of their truckbeds. After the endorphins of our performance abated, and the heart burn and indigestion returned, we sauntered inside to watch Stabbed In The Back play a killer set. We hit the stage and played a bunch of unreleased songs that the kids seemed to enjoy. Dopamines made butthole jokes and played perhaps my favorite set of the tour. TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation that erupted in pogoing circle pits and projectile beers.

Hit with the sharp realization that The Dopamines' and Elway's leg on the tour was finished, we gathered for pictures, hugs, and dick-sentiment. We finished our 40's and sped to the nearest Del Taco with The Dopamines to savor new friendships and nacho fries. Those dudes are the best. We made another round of farewells and drove through the night back to CO.

THE END.

We'll put a bunch of photos up soon, I'm feeling a bit lazy today, plus I gotta go play a show with Michael Graves from "The Misfits".  #GOPunks4lyfe!!!

Canada/West Coaster: Part II

7/23: Seattle

After a footed van chase down to the US customs checkpoint due to a hold up of sweet booze dealz at the duty free shop we had arrived back in the land of fountain soda and cheap beer. With freedom ringing in our ears we celebrated our mother land with a Seattle $8.99 all-you-can eat vegan buffet at Araya’s Place. After packing our gullets full of creamy peanut butter sauce drowned pad thai and green curry saturated tofu we thanked our founding fathers and God even though we were unable to pray over a forty-five degree angle. We laid down in a park on the other side of the water providing a beautiful panoramic view of the industrious shores of the city.

Heading over to El Corozon, a rad all-ages club complete with a dirt turkey infested alley and piss soaked carpeted floors, we were greeted by some amazingly helpful and friendly stage and sound folk.  We were also introduced to a heavy handed bartender who felt the need to wish us luck by mixing us cocktail glasses of whiskey. With encouragement and gifts from our new found friends Elway took the stage with mediocrely executed licks and banter equivalent to a high school mall hang after getting your older brother to buy you a 6 pack of mike’s hard cranberry. Dopamines did okay too. TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation that erupted in pogoing circle pits and projectile beers.

And the make up for 3 days of not drinking $6.50 Molson Canadian cans continued. We were bought beverages from old and new pal’s, including Toby Jeg’s brother who eerily sounds just like him, and Erin and her boyfriend celebrating 11 years with excessively loud eighth notes and conversations carrying globs of spit infused booze. A $100 torso sized bottle of Jamison entered the scene introduced by the Dopamines complete in silver tilting receptacle that served directly into our mouths.

I apparently stole some girl’s cigarette (sorry whoever you were) and continued to dart back and forth yelling over stranger’s conversations as if I were a 6 year old on Christmas morning. I also ended up sitting with a woman who explained that my misunderstood fascination with bodies of water had to do with detachment issues from my father – a conversation that I had almost entirely no part in besides head nods and maybe a few tears. The night ended crashing into the bench seat of the van and waking up to a 7am sun in the shittiest Tacoma motel parking lot.

-garrett

7/24: Portland

Our day in Portland started off right with some pretty epic vegan BBQ that our buddy Ben hooked up.  We then sped our way over to the Backspace, passing Crome-bagged, sideways haircut bo-bos along the way.  Load-in, coffee, and beer happened before we found The Dopamines geeking out at this rad arcade bar called Ground Kontrol.  Don’t judge the place by the unforgiving use of the ‘K’ – the place had mad pinball machines (including a Will Wheaton signed SNG) and a timed NES emulator machine.  I (Brian) used my 90s talent to immediately destroy Mario 3, a feat that is apparently crazier the younger you get.  I was also able to get TKOed by Mike Tyson in the second round after remembering the password (007-373-5963).

Back at the venue we watched some rad openers and played to a group of people working on their bored expressions.  We covered Minor Threat’s “Straight Edge.”  The Dopamines changed their name to The Vegan Cheesesteaks for the evening and TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation that erupted in pogoing circle pits and projectile beers. Courtesy vegan sandwiches from the backspace were had, more arcadage, and then we proceeded to get the fuck out of Oregon. 

7/25:  San Francisco

We left Portland right after the show under the assumption that our overnight drive wouldn’t be a big deal and that at a lean-compared-to-Fort-Collins-to-Edmonton 650 miles, we would be able to knock it out without issue.  Although our GPS is a lying British accent-having piece of shit that insisted spuriously that it would take us 10 hours (it took 12), we arrived shortly after noon in beautiful San Francisco.  The first stop was at Golden Era, which is among the greatest Vegan Chinese restaurants that exist in this fading republic.  Check it out and get the sweet and sour chik’n.  We followed up lunch with a stroll down Baker Beach for the ultimate in dichotomous vistas.  You really get a sense of the big picture of life when your view of the magnificence of the Golden Gate bridge and the hills of Marin is punctuated by an old creepy dude’s dilapidated nutsack draped down from between his sun-crimsoned thighs like a gunny sack full of ham cubes.  Breathtaking.

Our next stop was the Fat Wreck warehouse/record store, where Teenage Bottlerocket was to do an in-store record signing thing with some exclusive colored vinyl.  We showed up right when we were expecting that it’d start to the news that both Bottlerocket and Dopamines had stopped in the night and would be various degrees of late, citing fatigue and weakness of character respectively as an excuse.  No matter, we drank a bunch of beers and thumbed through the collection of rad shit that Fat has sitting around.  Some notable Elway blog alumni showed up too, which was rad!  Dennis and Erin, our buddies mentioned in a previous blog about Sacramento, showed up to hang with a baking sheet packed full of mini red velvet cupcakes with icing pentagrams on them and a clutch bottle of Maker’s Mark.  Best people ever.

I can remember being a young idiot listening to NOFX records and thinking that it’d be amazing to play Bottom of the Hill someday.  Now that I’m an old idiot, I am pleased as piss to report that actually playing there was just as rad as my constantly-masturbating former self imagined.  Bottlerocket obviously has a storied history of killing it in San Francisco, because the venue was packed.  This show was far and away the best show of the tour so far and the best show on the West Coast.  Sing alongs, high fives, and a good old fashioned circle pit!  Dopamines (sincerely) played a great set and got people stoked.  Just about every friend we’ve ever made in the bay area was in attendance and we made a couple of new buddies as well.  Special thanks to Ramona, Skyler and all of the rad people from the Bottom of the Hill.  We retired to super bro Jay’s abode for nightcaps, illicit substances and sleep.

The Dopamines bought this enormous pig at the Canadian border.

Joe has nicer legs than your girlfriend.  Sorry, but he does.

Drunk.

Yes!

Dude bought an Elway shirt and immediately cut off the sleeves.  Goofball.

When not doing his best Kid Rock impersonation, Ben serves rad Vegan BBQ in Portland.

At the Fat Wreck Record Store in SF.

Bottom of the Hill show.

Clutch Christian rock band-style photo

More from SF.

CONTEST PHOTOS!

Success Brian.  Reference:http://www.quickmeme.com/Success-Kid/

Bad Luck Tim.  Reference: http://www.quickmeme.com/Bad-Luck-Brian

Canada/West Coaster: Part I

7/18, Fort Collins, CO: It was bright outside. Our eyes adjusted to make out dark cement walls lined with framed tour posters and plastic cup capped whiskeys sitting dormant atop glass shelves. Door men and sound guys arrived sheepishly running through routines shuffling gear and instructing backlines designed to seamlessly peel away. Fold out tables were lined with t-shirts and disks stuck with hot pink priced tapes (our hand crafted wood display we spent hours on was too big so we ditched that shit). We set up as quick as we could and set out to find birthday friends and rainbow colored booze slurpees. And the slaying began. People quickly funneled into a free show at the Aggie in Fort Collins arming themselves with tallboys and shots lining the floor. The first band, Head Injuries, was from Loveland and played good punk rock. If this statement doesn’t sound too surprising – check out Loveland sometime. Dopemines followed getting the crowed stoked and detailing the impregnating of a wife. Elway then played one of our biggest shows gracing the audience with a handful of songs off Delusions, a few from our new EP “Hence My Optimism”, and even a very new one we managed not to completely botch. TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation erupting pogoing circle pits and projectile beers. The kick off forecast a rad tour with rad dudes. Drinks were had, to a point where load out included me crashing down the stairs and into a wall kick drum first. Some more bars happened. And the rest was forgotten.


7/19 – 7/20, Bummer drive and Edmonton: You know, the 1,300 mile journey from Fort Collins to Edmonton seemed daunting at first, but after shedding a couple hundred miles off the journey and witnessing the jarring manmade urban splendor of such cities as Casper, Wyoming, we realized that drive was actually not only daunting, but actually very boring. The saving grace was the never-disappointing natural beauty of Montana. I can’t say I blame all those hill jacks who live there who want to make their 20 acre ranches with all the cars on cinder blocks, the sadly malnourished but loyal hound dogs, and the Ron Paul 2008 and 2012 yard signs into sovereign nations ala Mr. Show. Anyhow, we decided to split our journey to Edmonton in twain by staying in a town called Lethbridge, Alberta, just over the Canadian border. Our border crossing, by the by, was as painless as could ever be expected, as the border guards were stoked to hear that we love Propagandhi and let us through without much of a hassle. I wonder what their favorite song off Today’s Empires Tomorrow’s Ashes is. Garrett managed to find a vegan hardcore kid on a couchsurfing website who said he’d put us up for the night. This was stoking, because his house turned out to be a MTV cribs style mansion and we slept more comfortably than we deserve. Thanks bro! Okay, so we finally arrive in Edmonton, scoped out the venue, and ate some spectacular vegan food from a restaurant called Padmanati. The show was great. Old Wives opened the show and played a well-oiled brand of pop punk that brings to mind the heyday of Lookout! Records. We played and were well received, particularly by the 5 or 6 skids throwing each other around in the pit. The Dopamines killed, per usual. TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation erupting pogoing circle pits and projectile beers. Garrett, Brian and I(Tim) went on the hunt for some of that famous overpriced Canadian beer, and on our journey helped an elderly woman on her way home from the doctor walk to her apartment building with her groceries. Hooray for helping! As the show came to a boozy end, we hatched a plan with The Dopamines to share a single room in a hotel with a strip club in the basement. We decided to go to said strip club to celebrate The Dopamines’ hardly-working merch guy Dave’s birthday. I have never been a huge fan of strip clubs, but there were certainly some noticeable differences between Canadian and American strip joints that I felt were interesting and worth expanding upon. Canada, like the EU and I’m sure several other countries doesn’t have a $1 or $2 bill. Anything smaller than $5 is represented only with coins. You can see where this creates a logistical problem for dancer and strip club patron alike. The answer lies in posters personalized to the individual dancer, rolled up like a bugle of sorts and held suggestively by the girl as she encourages customers to toss coins into the funnel. Even more interestingly, the coins that miss the makeshift funnel thing are collected by a magnet on a stick operation that sort of looks like a metal detector. They’ve got it down to a science, up here! We wound down the rest of our night steeping in the ironic contraposition of what it was to help that elderly woman with walking down the street versus what it is to help out some young girls by pitching loons ($1 coins) into a paper funnel held between their legs. A line of thought that doesn’t lead to very flattering places… A couple old Simpsons and Golden Girls episodes washed the thoughts from our heads as we drifted off to a drunken sleep.


7/21, Calgary: The Dopamines are a bunch of rich kids. Brutal hangovers left us in shambles as we rolled across their 1 ½ star hotel room floor telling fart jokes and passing Mikey Erg around. Desperate attempts were made to wash away the pungent scent of shame and stripper perfume, decimating what little integrity the hotel’s shower ever possessed. With clean bodies and a clear conscience, another savage craving soon entered out stomachs and hearts. Realizing we had been in Canada for almost 12 hours, the time to consume poutine was nigh. The GPS was set for The Big Cheese Poutinerie in Calgary and away we went. Our veins rushing with gravy lube and stomachs churning cheese curds, we ventured onto “sexy 17th St” in Calgary. We disgusted all these hotties as the temperate Calgary sunlight illuminated our true dirt-turkey physiognomy. We took the “Pepsi Challenge”, and it was just about the saddest thing ever. You ever order a whiskey and Pepsi? Hell no, you would be a virgin until your dying day ordering that horsepiss at a bar. Double-Whiskey COKE, no ice, is what keeps these gents content. We then sauntered into a local park to watch a few locals play Weakerthans covers then jumped in the van to head over to the venue. The Old Wives opened for the second night in a row, engaging the crowd with soaring three piece harmonies and solid punk jams. The Dopamines were too drunk to play and just awkwardly touched one another on stage – I for one, was aroused. TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation that erupted in pogoing circle pits and projectile beers. Like rabid cats shot up with beer-tranquilizers and corralled into kennels, we finally got in the van, cozied up in our sleeping bags, and prepared for an overnight caravan ride to Vancouver.

7/22, Vancouver: The treachery of mountainous roads forced us to pull over at a rest stop and wait until daylight to continue. We woke up on the fringe of Banff National Forest between a spiked crag and a rushing river -truly a breathtaking way to wake up. We ate a heart-healthy breakfast with our favorite big-gurls, The Dopamines, and teamed up to continue our trek through the Canadian Rockies. The drive was a grueling all-day adventure, and we arrived just in time for load in and sound checks at The Venue. TBR’s tour manager, Cory, came through with a clutch 30 rack that accompanied our delish falafel dish dinners. We stumbled across the street to spend our last of Canadian coinage on arcade games then navigated through a myriad of crusty bo-bo’s to discuss the marvels of modern sea trade we spotted along Vancouver’s river shore. Local sluggers, The Isotopes, were first up to bat that evening and they hit one out of the park. Rocking out several Americana baseball-themed songs, they kept up momentum and lead the crowd in a sing-along of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game”. The Dopamines spilled whiskey all over their dirty shirts and choked on fog smoke, all the while playing their instruments like a bunch of thalidomide stricken children. TBR followed with clever techniques to rouse audience participation that erupted in pogoing circle pits and projectile beers. We crashed with some new Canadian buddies and found the bottom of their Jameson bottle and waxed awkwardness under the influence some really awesome weed. I slept in the van and a bum watched me pee on the side of the street at 5 in the morning while I drunkenly tried to keep my footing – it was a bonding moment, his name was Larry.

This.  For 20 hours.

Heh...

Next level delicious technology, player.

Fake-ass spicy ginger beef, that's smart!

The elevation of Edmonton.  Praise his name, dicks.

 The great one lifting the cup above his mighty cranium like it ain't no thang.

 Calgary is a ten from this angle, bro...

 Canadian Rockies.  Shit got real.

 Boredom and pickles.   Boom!

This lethal mixture is called the Barnett Family Haircut.  Tasty bevs.

 Blog Epilogue (Epi-blogue?) Gimmick!!!

Here's the deal.  Because unemployment and general dickery made a bored idiot out of me, I put an Elway-ian spin on some classic internet memes.  All you guys have to do is give these following pics some hilarious captions, and you could win some free shit from us!  Don't be a dick and send them shits to elwaytheband@gmail.com!

 Scumbag Garrett

Reference:  http://www.quickmeme.com/Scumbag-Steve/

Sudden Clarity Joe

Reference:  http://www.quickmeme.com/Sudden-Clarity-Clarence/

SPRING BREAK!!! Part III

We have something of a sordid history with the state of Iowa. The shows we’ve played there on previous tours could be described as spotty if you wanted to be nice about it and total let-downs if you prefer candidness. We always left the hawkeye state feeling like we should have just kept driving. It is, however, pleasing to report that both of our shows in Iowa on this tour turned out pretty well, and our unenthusiastic opinion of the state took a real turn for the better.

The show in Davenport was in a rad diy garage space called the Zam Compound. We knew the show would be a success right away, as there were probably as many people in the room as have ever seen us at all our other Iowa shows combined. Sets from As You Were, Lipstick Homicide, and Philly homegirls Luther were all really stellar. We played well and were received warmly by the 100% awesome crowd. There were even a couple stray hippies, either flail-dancing convulsively to the songs in their jncos and tie-dye or just having a full blown meth freak-out. Either way we were stoked. We awoke the next morning and, along with Luther, were hooked up with free Jimmy John’s by Davenport promoter guru, Mike. On to Des Moines, home of the legendary Slipknot!

Puzzle:

Hint: Shame it was their last.


Fears about how the show would work out, informed by our history with the city and state were again quelled almost immediately at The Gaslamp in Des Moines. It’s a really cool bar with an impressive smattering of pornography sloppily glued(I hope) to the bathroom walls, which I suppose is a nice bonus. We were also provided with all you can drink PBR and Coors, which is both a blessing and a curse. We arrived at the venue some two hours before the bands were to start, and we were on last. You can imagine how the evening devolved into a characteristic Elway-styled buffoonery, with moderation cast unabashedly into the wind. Opening acts Muddy Rails and The Blendours were really great, the former being of the bearded, Hot Water Music ilk, and the latter being some of the best acoustic pop-punk this side of Kepi Ghoulie. We took the stage with a manly, Kate Moss confidence and drunkenly sweated through our set with what seemed like precision. The show was followed by hangs with the promoter of the show, a stand-up dude by the name of Kevan. NHL Open Ice arcade game in the living room, shots of tequila, and only half-consciously watching the first half of V for Vendetta capped off what was a pleasantly positive experience in Des Moines. Iowa was 2/2 this time around! Exciting news!

Puzzle:

Hint: There is no knowledge that is not power.


Another quick note about Iowa, is that we shared the stage with five Iowa bands on this tour, and all of them were really fucking great. No kidding! So if you have a few minutes, check out Lipstick Homicide, As You Were, Strong City, Muddy Rails, and The Blendours. Iowa has got a something going on, dudes. Where you at, Kansas?

Alright… Omaha. A city with great people and places to play this time compounded by the fact that we would be sharing the stage with long-time bosom buddies: the mighty Red City Radio. We arrived in Omaha early, and after perusing a thrift store and Mexican grocery store, we headed to Jake’s cigar bar to watch Red City Radio record a video for hearnebraska.org. The concept was that we were to sit at the tables in the bar while they played their song and look bored and uninterested. The problem with having the attention span of a meth-baby is that when you are supposed to look bored and uninterested, you tend to become bored and uninterested. Tim and tour manager extraordinaire Dave “sweet n’ low” Williams sought after Omaha’s cache of vegan delights. What we found was a pizza place called Night Flight, which made one hell of a vegan pizza. Afucking+! The show was our second time at The Sandbox and was totally decent. The Tuesday crowd was sparse, but several people I was not acquainted with seemed to know the lyrics to a bunch of songs, and the sing-a-longs made the show feel intimate and not just thinly attended and droll. Red City Radio killed it, naturally, and after some tearful goodbyes, we hit the road to make it home in time for Brian to go to work.

Puzzle: (Remember PEMDAS)!!!

Hint: Mr. Grandson of a slave owner himself!


A lot of fun was packed into these 6 days. It’s a great feeling to know that we can hop in the van and play around the Midwest for a week and have good buddies in almost every city who come out to or put on shows that make us feel like this is worth it. So a big thanks to everyone who helped put on a show, came out, bought merch, let us sleep on their floor, or sold us discounted junk food at the Flying J. Cheers!

PS: REMEMBER TO SOLVE ALL 6 PUZZLES AND GET AT US FOR A CHANCE TO WIN... SOMETHING!!!

SPRING BREAK!!! Part II

After successfully screening a new batch of shirts with the help of the indubitably rad and helpful William of Recycled Rockstar and partaking of Kansas City's local vegan fare (a restaurant called FüD which, if you can tolerate the abysmal service, is really quite good), we headed for St. Louis. There, we killed the last few remaining minutes of free time trying before the show to go see the gateway arch in what was either a staggering display of poor navigation skills or a series of Mr. Bean like happenstances in which we were just being fucked with by some covert power. Either way, what should have been a 15 minute touristy pilgrimage turned into an hour and a half long endeavor that ended in, well... seeing the gateway arch up close for all of 3 minutes. Moving on.

The show was at Lemmons, a bar which the Elway blog enthusiast (should one exist?) might recall that we played an acoustic set at on our last tour. The show was well attended and we played alright and people bought some merch and things were generally good. Word to Bruiser Queen, The Winchester and Guy Morgan for putting on good sets. We were again provided with delicious pizza and a ridiculous amount of alcoholic beverages courtesy of Darren of The Haddonfields which that filled the overnight drive to Chicago with the sound of gross beer farts and the smell of... well, gross beer farts.

St. Louis

Puzzle:

Fuck this because anarchy!


What's next? Chicago? Oh shit...

Ascending the stairs to super-friends Matt and Rachel’s apartment, our ears (and those of all other neighboring tenants likely asleep at 6:30am on a Saturday) were filled with the now all too familiar sound of Thin Lizzy’s “The Boys Are Back In Town.” It’s become something of a tradition between us and our Chicago besties, along with 7am beers and a general lack of responsibility for physical well-being or hygiene. A brief morning respite provided the much needed energy to power through what was certain to be a banner day for getting stupid shitty with awesome friends, and we headed for Atlas, where a similarly ragged Holy Mess slumbered after a late night of drinking with recording titan Matt Allison.

Joyously reunited in Episode IV post-death-star-destruction fashion, we Elways and The Holy Mess embarked on a daylong drinking and music sojourn. Backup vocals were recorded on The Holy Mess’ new record, Art of Pizza was again consumed in impressive quantities, and the Busch Light flowed like Coolio… like in his prime.

The show was our second outing at The Beat Kitchen. Everything about the evening’s festivities from the venue and staff to sets from local dudes Having Antlers and forever-buddies The Holy Mess to the amazing crowd and new friends made was a perfect testament to why we are so hopelessly smitten with the city of Chicago. If you were involved in anyway with the goings on of last night’s show, whether just coming out to the show, running sound like a G (Matt), promoting the show the way every promoter ought to (Toby Jeg), bringing us delicious vegan food (Katy), or serving up several rounds of shitty shamrock shake shots, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Oh, and sorry if you were at all offended by the anti-irish commentary I may have slurred between oblivion-seeking gulps of booze. Not sorry because, you’re offended. Sorry because you’re irish. Moving on.

The night ended (for me anyhow) after tying on another metric shitload of Busch Light and hollering 90s alt rock covers into the warm Chicago night alongside Ramblin’ Roadshow companions Rob and Steve-o from The Mess. Glorious hangs in America’s finest city.

Chicago!

Toby Jeg teaches Tim how to play Santa Barbara by Everclear. 2 dudes 1 guitar.

Puzzle:

Hint: The unseasonably warm weather makes us want them.

SPRING BREAK!!! Part I

One might think that the drive between Fort Collins and Kansas City may eventually seem shorter to those so accustomed to traversing it. The reality is that the human mind cannot simply gloss over the abysmal void of shittiness that is the I-70 through Kansas. It will forever remain a 400+ mile expanse reminding even the most seasoned traveler that death is impending, inevitable, and most unforgiving.

Seemingly moments before these thoughts took permanent root in our minds, we arrived at the famous Club Mustache in midtown Kansas City; a second home of sorts for us. Nary a foot was set on the groud before we were taken into Bent Left's tour steed and carted across town to an indoor sports...uhh... place... of sorts. Anyhow, the guys in Bent Left and a bunch of their friends play in an indoor soccer league on a team called The Deersharks, and us along with about 20 of their loud mouthed drunk friends were to form a peanut gallery to cheer them on. The ensuing matchup featured our boys clad in snazzy matching blue uniforms against a team adorned in whatever they happened to be wearing that day, most of which happened to be white shirts, so let's call them the White Guys (though it should be noted that the 'white guys' were almost uniformly of latino descent). So against our admittedly culturally-skewed expectations, the white guys on team Deersharks dominated the Latino guys on Team White Guys a blistering 12-0. The shame of being ruthlessly dominated by a pack of barely functioning alcoholics must have been compounded absolutely by the cackling, howling, and obscenity-peppered screaming of the makeshift drunk fan club we gladly belonged to. And presto! With the speed with which we arrived, we set off again back toward Club Mustache, leaving the befallen White Guys in a cologne of shame and accumulated ball sweat mist.

The show was, as expected, another great testament to why we haven't any reason to stray from playing dingy basement shows. Great sets from Iowa's Strong City, Lawrence Kansas' The Rackatees, and local sensations The New Lost souls. Good times, great oldies.

A quick note on professionalism for the aspiring touring musician: Before heading out on tour, you should probably make sure that you have the adequate number of tshirts, so that you don't have to spend your entire morning scambling to print some more after only one show, which for those curious, is what we're doing right now.

Cheers!

Yeah, it was like this for 8 hours. Jealous?

Thanks to our boy Dave Williams for taking pictures and selling merch until he is too bored/drunk to do either.

No haikus this time. Picture puzzles instead! Solve all 6 and get... erm... something!

HINT: Both Tim and Brian are reading it.

The Hot Mess Express Tour: Part IV (The Voyage Home)

11/21:  El Paso, Texas.
Our tummies rumbling across the dry and desolate vistas of the southwestern borderlands, we made our first stop in Texas a Souper Salad in suburban El Paso.  Our journey through Texas for the next 5 days would mean nothing if it wasn't kickstarted by a buffet of some sort.  What followed was one of what would be several episodes of crippling -itis that would pepper our evenings here in the lone star state.  Yuckers.  We showed up to Lip's Lounge, which is a gay bar, methinks.  We played with a hardcore band that was pretty legit, barring the inarticulate Jesus rant near the end of the set.  A singer-songwriter guy played an interesting couple of songs as GB and Joe went out to the van to learn "Wolf Shirt" for our set.  Our set was short and fun, and I went on probably too many rants about religion and gender identity, but such was the nature of the night.  A few people showed up who were already into us, which was a nice surprise.  The bulk of the audience was younger kids stoked on the music.  All in all, a pretty cool night.  Kudos to Victor for setting everything up!  We split after the show on an overnight gallivant to Austin, where a veritable bounty of amazing vegan food awaited.

Haiku:
Souper Salad sesh
Christian hardcore bands are lame
Sorry but it's true

 

Garrett, what are your thoughts on straight-edge, Christian hardcore?

11/22:  Austin, Texas.

We haven't been to Austin in over 2 years.  The overnight commute, rest stop sleep-a-thon, and early morning approach drive were all spent anxious in antici......pation for Veggie Heaven, which was naturally our first stop.  Believe me when I say this place is delicious as all hell.  After stuffing our faces with mountainous piles of vegan greatness, we headed for the local Hilton hotel, where we pretended to be the kind of band that could stay at The Hilton in order to con our way into a much needed pool/spa/sauna/shower sesh.  We rocked that shit like 1%-ers and headed to Beerland for the show.  We were playing with our good friends in The Anchor, a band called Dahling that was super rad power-pop/punk, and a band from Ft. Worth called Special Guest.  The show was sparsely attended, but we played well, had fun and met a bunch of cool ass kids.  Seems like a success to me.

Haiku:

Heed my words, vegans

Go to veggie heaven.  Get

Protein 2000

Garrett and his one true love: Protein 2000!

GB is straight up occupying the Hilton's rooftop pool.

11/23:  San Antonio, Texas

House party!  YES!  We showed up to the small house in some very random (and apparently sketchy?) part of San Antonio just in time to realize that we totally fucked up and didn't grab beer first.  Upon returning with some ungodly amount of high life, we started drinking and I think we played a show.  I remember the microphone shocking the living shit out of me every time I'd touch it.  We played in a room packed with kids alongside some pretty rad local bands.  Well done, San Antonio!

Haiku:

Worst blog entry yet

Drank too much, don't remember

Hence the shittiness

Photo by Lee Caldera.

This might look like a boring picture to you, but I am WAY fucking proud of that parallel park job!

11/24:  THANKSGIVING SHOW IN ARLINGTON, TEXAS!

It sounds like a terrible idea doesn't it?  Nobody wants to go see some shitty punk show in a living room after they're stuffed full of greasy Thanksgiving fare.  "This show is gonna be a dooooooownnner," we thought as we used Garrett's food stamps to buy a sumptuous feast of various add-water dishes.  We made haste up the surprisingly traffic-free I-35 to Arlington.  Once we arrived at the house we wasted no time and immediately began preparing what was sure to be a gargantuan colossus of a shitty Thanksgiving dinner.  It turns out the day was full of pleasant surprises, though, as the dinner turned out pretty fucking good and the show turned out even better.  We didn't get started until about 11pm, but the show was packed and we had a god damned blast.  We found out about 10 minutes before the first band was to go on that we didn't have the proper cables to run a mic into the PA, but luckily there was an ex U-haul wiring mechanic at the show who spliced together two other random cables to make a ghetto-fabulous makeshift mic cable.  This fucker totally saved the day!  We made good friends with Avery, who put on the show for us.  Thanks dude!  We spent the next day watching Wonder Years episodes, making spraypainted Elway shirts to replace our completely depleted t-shirt supply, and dining on a Texas-sized vegan bounty at a punksgiving party.  A fun couple of days, indeed!

Haiku:

Thanksgiving itis

Makes for a sluggish house show

There's no room for beer!

Tofurky, cranberry sauce, stuffing, biscuits, potatoes, veggies, Lone Star.  Perfection

Spraypaint thriftshore shirts: DIY til we die!  Or until we get more shirts!

By far the coolest ghetto-rigging I've ever been privy to see.  1 xlr cable, 1 quarter inch, 1 solution.

11/26: Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

I am in no way exaggerating when I say it's quite possible I may have cut several years off of my life in the 2 days we spent in Oklahoma City.  We left Arlington early, anxious to hang out with our super-buddies in Red City Radio.  We arrived at The Hi Lo Club (which, by the way, may just be the best bar in the country) and promptly started drinking hard.  By the time we played (11:00pm or so) all of us were something in the neighborhood of too drunk to be left alone in a room with hard surfaces.  The show must go on, though, and on it went!  OKC is without fail one of the best places to play in the country.  These motherfuckers get rowdy.  We ended our set in traditional Oklahoma fashion, covered in beer and sweat, and needing another shot of peppermint schnapps.  We spent the next day hanging out with notorious professional drunk Garrett Dale of Red City Radio and coupling $7 all you can drink draft beer with various illicit substances.

Haiku:

Two Cow Garage sings

About how lame OKC is

Seems like they are that

Look, we were drunk, but it is UNTHINKABLE to imagine how the even-more-drunk Glenna Pendley managed to take this picture without falling the fuck over!

11/28:  Santa Fe, New Mexico

En route to what is without argument the Mecca of Mexican food, we met up alongside the I-40 with Ryan Weber from Spanish Gamble, who was traveling the opposite way.  We decided to celebrate the random coincidence of our paths crossing by enjoying a couple delicious cans of Fort Collins' own Fat Tire, when all the sudden fucking Serpico (actually just some dickhead cop) comes rolling up to crash the party.  He administers roadside sobriety tests, gives us shit about how he could totally just take us all in RIGHT NOW, and repeatedly insists that we take our hands out of our pockets because he "doesn't trust any of us."  Luckily enough, we all got out without any tickets or charges, but man what a prick!  Not the greatest start to this entry, but the mood that we were in after this encounter with New Mexico's finest contrasted with the mood we were in after we ate the world's greatest burrito at Horseman's Haven in Santa Fe is a perfect testament to the healing power of burritos!  If you fancy yourself a burrito enthusiast, or even an armchair burrito enthusiast, you simply must eat at Horseman's Haven.  The green chili is good enough to solve the euro crisis, mend broken marriages, and bring back Arrested Development all in a single bite!  Oh!  We also played a show and hung out with our good buddies from As In We.  It was pretty good night.  We fell asleep with fiery capsaicin churning in our stomachs and an eagerness to traverse Raton pass back into Colorado the next morning.

Haiku:

Level 2 green chili

Is hot enough to melt tongues

Don't try level 5

Is the reason you can't really see what's going on here the flash reflecting off the grease or is it the divine light the burrito itself exudes?  I think you know the answer.

12/1:  Denver, Colorado

Our homecoming show.  The day off we had before the show ended in a spectacular snowstorm that left 6 or 7 inches on the ground in Fort Collins.  It was the perfect reminder of all that we had missed while we were out on the road.  The show was at 3 Kings Tavern, which is without a doubt the best venue in Denver, and perhaps in the state of Colorado.  We played with Arliss Nancy and Sour Boy, Bitter Girl: two bands with which we share a practice space and an entire mutual network of friends, most of whom came out the show.  It was one hell of a drunken, sentimental evening.  Great sets, great friends!  It felt truly great to come home to  such an amazing show!  Thanks to everyone who made the icy voyage!

Haiku:

I can't believe it

We wrote a dumb haiku for

Every fucking show!

Epilogue:

I'll make this quick, because I am about to go get waaaaaaay drunk.  We met so many amazing people, played with so many amazing bands, and saw so many amazing places the past 5 weeks.  We just want to sincerely thank everyone who had even the smallest part of The Hot Mess Express!  Let's do it again soon!

Love,

Elway