Sometimes white, sensitive singer-songwriter dudes strike me as the most scary and misogynistic people around.

Retrograde

Despite six consecutive days of touring, one day off, and one day spent practicing, I played some of the sloppiest guitar of recent memory during last night’s show at Galaxy Hut.  My fingers felt sluggish and my left hand crawled up and down the neck.  How my vocals came across is an utter mystery to me, since I’m so unaccustomed to using microphones.  Still, the set went all right (couldn’t have done it without Dawn!) and we were pretty well-received by the audience, who varied in age from mid-twenties to the over-fifty set.

As a reparative gesture for double-booking the original date of the show, Lary from Galaxy Hut allowed the bands unlimited beer.  My friend Alex and I spoke conspiratorially of our recent over-indulgence in alcohol as I ordered pints for us at the bar.  Halfway through mine, I felt as if the spiteful lacuna of the past day’s sobriety had been gently patched up with eight ounces of Blue Point ale.

Janel & Anthony were wonderful as usual.  I am also convinced that their effects pedals have wanton Dionysian revels while in storage, which produce many, many baby effects pedals of uncertain parentage.  This is based solely on the sheer number of them the band had last night compared to when I last saw them.  Dawn theorizes that the growth rate is, in fact, exponential.

Brian Gonyer performed his first solo Eubonics show with the all-Asian support of his partner Ari, his hype man Cherub Rock (that would be me), and DJ Byron Tau.  The set was on the shorter tip, and I’m not sure if everyone made the last train back to DC.

Back Home

I am literally minutes away from falling asleep in my own bed.  One more show in Arlington, but not before going back to work and prepping for the semester.

The tour was a wild success based on the following critera:

-Folks seemed to genuinely like my music.

-I genuinely enjoyed hanging out with nearly every person who shared the bill and/or their floorspace with me.

-I miraculously avoided severe hangovers.

-I came home still loving my tour mates.

-I still have over $100 in my bank account (though only barely).

More stories and pictures forthcoming.  Promise.

Ask the EUB and IHAY about quantum pool. We’re bringing it to New Paltz.

Pushing pavement in Pittsfield, MA. 13 year old girls are questioning my gender. I can hear their debate press on from two blocks away.

In Allston, MA. I just sacrificed my infoshop shirt in the name of sleeveless summer.

Knotty Wood Looks Like Eyes Staring Me Down

It was inevitable that, being an acoustic guitar musician, I would lead a sing-a-long around a fire.  It turns out some punks are more up on their inner summer camp than me.  And God bless them for it.

The folks in the band Mallory host folk punk shows on their substantial property in rural(ish) Leverett, MA.  I played for a not-unexpected mix of farmer punks, UMass students, and Amherst townies.  The flames of the bonfire reddened my face.  My guitar felt hot under my hands.  The heat and sweat and nerves kept the mosquitoes off me for the duration of my set.  As soon as I finished, the damn insects began their feast once more.

We didn’t really sell any merchandise, but Dirk and I did barter some CDs for some stories from an older gentleman (and by older I mean late 20s, maybe even early 30s).  Topics included eating bugs in the forests of Vermont with a former partner, tactfully handling the unreasonable requests of customers while working as a car mechanic, and an ad-hoc homage to his 80-something year old grandmother, an engineer and devoted Linux user.

As mentioned in an earlier tweet, the cops came and did a thorough check of IDs before sending everyone home for the evening.  The next morning, denizens of the house told us about shows they’ve been to where a lot of kids were naked and covered in blood.  The only acceptable and remotely interesting way to be caught by the cops, I suppose.

We roped the band Wood Spider, who shared the bill with us in Leverett, to join us on our show in Montpelier.  Despite the modest and apathetic audience, the overpriced beer, and the condescending and downright musically irrelevant headlining band (did I mention that there were no local bands booked?), we pulled through.  Wood Spider repaid us with a place to stay in Ludlow, VT, where I slept comfortably in a real bed.

Our Portland show got canceled, but Nico from Juggler’s Meadow/Mallory was kind (crucial? trill?) enough to pull some strings and get us a last-minute gig in Allston.  So it’s Boston or bust.

It is now the Mostly Massachusetts tour.  Well, half-Mass.

One more thing before I go: I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you about Dirk’s idea for an Iron Chef episode.

The challenger: Food Not Bombs.

The secret ingredient: a Trader Joe’s dumpster.

The prize: two fixed gear bicycles and ten pounds of Drum tobacco.

I awarded Dirk three tours for this recommendation.  Tours, I should let you know, are a treasured commodity around these parts.

In Vermont. I didn’t realize that New England was so replete with rich white hippies!