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I got up at 9, and decided to go with Dylan and Adam to Zachary’s Pizza while Jason goes out with his folks. They saw us at the Stork Club, and Jason was concerned that they were disappointed with his penchant for RAWK. “This is what we spent Cello lessons on?” asked his mom. Ouch!
They’re going to China Town for Dim Sum. I want it! But, I think Jason and his folks would’ve enjoyed themselves more without me, and I needed to pick up that new stand today.
I showered, then walked down the hill to the International House cafe. This place is like a hostel, I think. Nice. I got a good mocha and a quiet place to write until the other guys woke up. I needed to be back by 1-ish so we could meet Adam’s friends at the pizza place. Also, Pat and his wife, whose wedding we played for, invited us to their house later in the afternoon. They are a really cool couple. I was told that Shandree and I made a good impression on the folks we sat with at the wedding, who were the bride’s close family. I told her Shandree was probably mostly to credit, and she acknowledged, “We wives are good like that.” Indeed. Pat claims to have “Bro-Deal” influence at Guitar Center, so maybe I can get a good price on that stand.
BTW, my cymbals sounded good last night. I’m pretty pleased over all.
As I sat writing at the International House, four Italien guys discussed their plans for the day. Makes me want to return to Europe with Shan soon. BTW, I read that a British study found that men who shave everyday are 70% less likely to have a stroke, a dn more likely to get sex. I guess college does make you smarter.
After my coffee, I walked back up the hill to Becky’s condo, huffing like a 70-year-old smoker. I picked up an SF Weekly in the entrance of the building and read articles on Gay Activism while I caught my breath. I enjoyed the shade of the trees, the narrow road running past, and looking up at the old house that sits across the pavement from Ms. Gimbel’s apartment. It was still “early” (11:30) and I wasn’t ready to ring upstairs just yet.
After about 20 minutes, I buzzed unit 301 and walked up. Jason was already gone, his stuff piled up and ready to be hauled out to the van. Adam and Dylan were just getting up when I walked in. Becky and I sat and discussed Asian chauvanism, the differences between the Chinese, Japanese and Korean cultures, the merits of having multiple Trading Spaces programs on TV, and the lack of a Gay Activist column in any of the mainstream alternative papers in San Diego being a bit strange.
Adam finally stumbled out, marvelling that he’d slept as long as he had. Dylan and he left the room they’d slept in a complete mess, but Becky claimed her roommates were being jerks lately, so she didn’t mind. Cute.
Becky had a ride out of town in the morning, so we all said our good-byes. The three remaining Rookies drove to Zachary’s, where we got a table for 5. Adam’s friend Lillianna, from The Posies mailing list, met us for a late lunch. She saw us at The Stork, and made plans to see us again at Hush, Hush.
We ordered a large, sausage deep-dish, and Jason met up with us before the food actually arrived. Nice guy that he is, he saved some Dim Sum leftovers for me! Yeah! I was starving, and ready for an appetizer.
After lunch, Lillianna took off to do some stuff before the show. We walked next door to Half Price Books. I found the Tekken 2 soundtrack for $2 and a book entitled Free Bird. Adam bought it at my suggestion that he read from it at shows when people request the song of the same name. Any chapter will do. (It hasn’t happened yet.) Jason bought Hot Water Music by Charles Bukowski, and I started reading it later in the day. Funny, gross, and largely hopeless. Vulgar, self-deprecating and post-modern; A lot of it I like, and a lot of it I don’t because I shouldn’t, so to speak. Why hold on to emptiness?
We stopped at a comic shop to look for some cards. A big, longhaired, greasy fellow stood behind the counter in jeans, a tee and a thick flannel. The temperature was about 85 degrees. He looked sad, and spoke in low tones, moving his too-large body awkwardly behind the glass counter. Bending over was a chore for him, and we felt like we distracted him from some deep meditation. My assessment: Cosmic Comics sucks. Too bad.
We headed to Pat and Dana’s, and on the way, stopped at Guitar Center. The dude behind the counter was tall and skinny. He was bald on top, but with long, thick braids and green tinting to some parts of his mane. He spoke with a German-ish accent, and his all black attire seemed quite European to match. I cut to the chase, and told him I needed to spend $40 on a new boomstand.
“Well, the only one I’ve got is $60. The other one for $39 is outta stock.”
“Well, that’s trouble.”
“You have a show?”
“Yeah, tonight.”
“Where?”
“Hush, Hush”, I said, as if I’d been there a million times before, and hadn’t everybody?
“OK, lemme see what I can do.” Bro-Deal! The guy gave me a $50 price for the boomstand out the door. RC covered $40 of it, and I paid the remainder. Very cool. I thanked him by giving him some RC CDs and cards. He reciprocated by throwing down 4 pairs of sticks! We then traded some stories about lost equipment and the hassles of being the drummer. I related a story that John Wilkes Booze shared, about a bass guitar, an overzealous club owner wanting to get home, and said bass having to be FED-EXed from New Orleans to LA. Something like that.
The helpful salesman drums for a band called Simon Stinger. Apparently, they’re in negotiations for a deal, and there’s talk of being produced by Ric Ocasek. Nice.
Pat and Dana live in a great older house, from which they run 11345.com, a mail order shop that sells rock kitsch and a few albums. They’ve actually sold a few of ours on their site. Pat was kind enough to give us some copies of albums they put out, and gave us a nice deal on some merch as well.
Our visit consisted mostly of Adam and Jason and I talking about ourselves like assholes while Pat and Dana listened and laughed at us, which was entirely warranted. When conversation turned from “mom” jokes to insult exchange, we broke the cycle by ordering dinner from the local El Salvadoran restaurant. Our hosts treated, which was again generous and super cool.
After overstaying our welcome, we changed clothes and drove to Hush, Hush. Jason and Adam argued a lot over directions, and time grew short in bad traffic and unfamiliar territory.
When we finally arrived, Transcender informed us we “could” use their drums. I was resistant at first, since using an unfamiliar kit can feel very awkward. At the same time, I didn’t want to be “the Asshole” and throw an unnecessary problem into an already tight space, so I conceded, and we put my drums in the back storage room, so as not to leave them out on the street.
In the end, the drums worked out fine. Adam’s fried Andy said we sounded better at Hush, Hush than at the Stork. Go figure.
The sound was good, though, and the club is cool. There’s a big painting on the “stage wall” (no actual stage) of a dapper flapper sitting on a crescent moon, looking seductively at the bar patrons with a finger to her lips, the words Hush, Hush written above. Classy.
The staff was nice. Neil, the DJ, looked like a kind of mod Dave Foley with good teeth. Joe looked like a lightweight boxer, doubling as bouncer and bartender. Cole at the door was a bit eccentric looking. He sported wild hair and too many clothes for the climate, which hung loosely on his thin frame. A kind attitude and friendly grin contrasted the scatterbrain look in his eye.
Jamie, the main bartender, reminded me of a tall, thin Franke Potente with jet-black hair that she tied into a tough ponytail. Her pants were loose and low riding, and she wore a tight black tank under a white wife-beater, her bra thrown in there somewhere. She kept busy, cleaning and moving when she wasn’t getting drinks. She had a cool gaze, but didn’t mind answering questions or helping out on a busy night. I took some pictures around the club, and asked her to pose for one by the bar. I think she blushed a bit. She stood by a blackboard that read “Fuck Joe!”. I didn’t know who Joe was at the time.
The Meek played second. They’re Jonathan Richman like, but not funny. I didn’t really care for their busker sound.
Transcender was really good. They played a big, fuzz-psyche sound that reminded me of early Pumpkins stuff, but more driving like Hum. Adam didn’t miss his chance to take the stage with them, reading some spoken word parts over one of the songs. I couldn’t make out what was being read, but the sound was cool. The band is an eclectic group, seeming to come from all kinds of backgrounds style wise, but they play as a unit that certainly works.
After the whole show wound down, we packed up and drove to Augustine’s, Jason’s friend from college. He has a really nice condo in the city. We got to park safely inside the community gate, then headed inside for some well-needed rest. Adam couldn’t get comfortable, as his eyes were bugging him tremendously, and he’d misplaced his medicine.
I cared for about 3 minutes. Max. tee-hee.
Aug had to leave at 8 am for work, but said we could all lock up. I volunteered to move the van out onto the street in the morning, since we could only get out of the gate parking area with a clicker. I was REALLY tired, and after thanking Aug for his hospitality, I went back to sleep for a couple hours. Next thing I remember, Jason came bouncing down the stairs like a kid on Christmas. Goof.
I went back to the van to grab my towel, and found Adam’s medicine bag lodged between the door and the seat. This saved us time and hassle, plus put Adam in a better mood right off the bat.
While I showered, I recalled a dream I had that last night. It involved taking a survey to help Hollywood make better films, and the staff at the office where it happened consisted of B-list actors from TV and film. Somehow, I arrived late to the survey meeting, and started getting teased by the cadre of guys in the “class”. They got busted for misbehaving, but tried to blame me for the weirdness. I was called in to see the principal, Paul Giamatti, the guy who played Bob Zmuda in Man on the Moon with Jim Carrey. (Jim Carrey was nowhere near this place, BTW) Then I woke up…
After leaving Aug’s, we took a detour to Andy’s house, whose sister had a bunch of trading cards to give us for our promo Rookie Cards. Very cool. Mostly, they consisted of Buffy, Smallville, and some comic and movie cads. Adam thinks they’re only really suitable for Comi-Con. I think he underestimates the power of GEEK.
We hit the 101 to LA at noon, and didn’t stop for anything cool except gas and release. Adam got a picture of he, Jason and I in front of a gas station sign – The Oasis. A Fookin’ Wankers tribute that only he was excited about. Meh, at least he tried to get the Asian Presbyterian Church group into the pic with us, but they wouldn’t have it. Too bad – for them! HA HA! (barf!)
I slept, cussed, read Bukowski stories, and somewhere in between, the van we rode in came to receive the name Dick Van Dork. OK…
We got to Spaceland about 6, and no one was there, so we walked two doors down to a nice little Thai restaurant for dinner. Adam, somehow, ordered food that had mushrooms and coconut in it, both of which he despises. I ate about half his plate and all of mine. I’m not sure exactly how sitting on my ass all day made me hungry.
The club was bigger inside than it looked outside. We brought our stuff in, but had to wait to set up until Alaska sound-checked. They’ve apparently hold a residency there every Monday of the month, and the place gets packed, as it’s a free show and the bands seem to deliver.
Dylan’s wife Barbara and sister Mel came up from SD and brought a surprise – Shandree came with them. I was really happy to see her. The road was getting a little – wearing? Yep, that’s it. Too much testosterone in too little space. And messy…
We started right at 9, and the club was empty except for the few folks we brought. Jason began playing a bit tame, but after our first song, people started coming in, and the energy rose.
We rocked a fairly solid set. I was distracted, because I thought I saw someone I’d hoped would be there, and got a little nervous. It wasn’t until later that I realized it wasn’t him. Too bad.
From my standpoint, I felt we did OK. Less talk is always good, and I wished there wasn’t a sense of waiting after each song. It’s like we’re bewildered for a couple seconds after each tune. Improv is alright, but a little planning goes a long way. I’m just hypercritical. To me, everything is about rhythm. Break it at the wrong time or too many times, and everything becomes quite precarious.
Still, we got some applause, though we may have been too eclectic for the picky LA crowd. And of course, the club became packed to the walls when we were finished. Maybe next time, we’ll get a second-slot.
On the Speakers was great. I understand it’s the front man of Creeper Lagoon’s new gig, and now I wanna check out CL. I really enjoyed OTS, and hope to see more of them. Their bass player look like a skinny, goatee’d Ryan Phillippe, and rocked the stage like our own Jason. Their drummer wore an Atari tee shirt, played like a metronome, and had an effect-light under his snare drum. I’m stealing it. All.
I told the bass player how much I dug their stuff. He told me they’re working on a new CD, and commented on our set:
“You’re the drummer, right? Nice set, man.”
That’s cool, but I always read deeper than face value; A fault of mine. I’m constantly wary of reciprocated compliments. I don’t really need ‘em, and don’t expect ‘em. I just like to let people know when I appreciate something they’ve done, and want to vocalize it. I guess it appears like I’m “fishing” to some folks, but that’s not the case. I just try to be as real and honest as possible.
That said, to On the Speakers’ bass player – Thanks!
It was late as Alaska took the stage. We stuck around for one song, then took off for San Diego. Adam rode home with Amber, who also met us up there, while Dylan, Jason and I pile into Dick Van Dork with the gear. Detours and freeway closings tried to stymie our progress, but we arrived at our practice space in The Garden of Speedin’ (Adam’s day job) safely at 1:30 am. We unloaded Jason, dumped Adam’s gear, then Dylan and I drove to Casa de Martinez where our wives, who had left a bit earlier from LA, waited patiently. Hugs & handshakes, then Shan and I went home.
I crawled into bed at 3 am Tuesday morning, the echoes of drums and the hum of 8-cylinders still reverberating in my noodle.
15 THINGS I LEARNED ON THE ROAD
1. Different towns have different humors. You gotta learn what tickles ‘em.
2. Sometimes the ugliest dive rocks best.
3. You can’t force a name on a van. It’ll eventually name itself.
4. Drive time is better spent writing or reading than talking. Eventually, you run out of things to say except “fuck”. And that’s not worth anything.
5. Practice makes perfect. And shows aren’t practice.
6. Always dummy-check your own gear. Guitarists don’t know how many stands the drummer has, and drummers can’t count pedals. (Some drummers can’t even count…)
7. Your audience doesn’t always perceive your “best” show that way, and the same goes for your “worst”.
8. Mapquest everything. Twice.
9. Jack in the Box = evil
10. Soundguys are like assholes. You need ‘em, but they often stink.
10.5 Plus, they always know, far better than the musicians, what good music should sound like. The wish they were Bob Rock, but are oftentimes Schleprock.
11. Papusa’s rule.
12. The hills of Indiana produce great soul-punk.
13. The hills of SF are hard to drive.
14. The hills of nothing along the 101 will drive you crazy.
15. Tuning is not over-rated.
Peace,
Nas
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