I've said before that there are two kinds of space travel. However, as time goes by, I'm beginning to suspect that there may be more. More kinds of space, more ways to travel.

Tonight Prosolar Mechanics returned for our second mission at the Saint in Asbury Park, NJ. The evening started out tense, and preparing for the event was difficult and tedious. We had been drilling our procedures for hours on end this past week as we had had an extended break from our work. We've added another crew member to provide support for one of our tasks. This turned out to work quite well, and brought living "the body spills" closer to the standard on record. At any rate, I was pleased with the result when we performed it this evening, although I still seem to be having this mind fuck on the pitch coming out of the vocal breakdown section. We worked that section over and over, with me following note for note on the gretsch back at the warehouse until I felt I could do it without getting anxious and feeling like I'm pulling back. I can't pull back there. It's the moment where I'm carrying the ship and I need to confidence to let all that it is, whatever it is inside me that drives me towards this, come forward without any apologies. I suppose if I was perfect I'd either always sing it perfectly or I'd always think it was an equally important moment regardless of how on the pitch is. I just want it to be right. Maybe the truth is, it's right. It's alright.

The evening started out tense. We all worked our cash jobs, ran a series of tiring errands, met up later than planned, hauled ass out of new brunswick to reach the warehouse and gather our gear. The forklift was AWOL, I have no idea what the fuck happened to it, because really, how does one transport a forklift without a seriously large truck? We had to drag all of our shit down those retched, steep and narrow stairs and pack the van. Then six of us crammed in with it, four of us sharing captains chairs made for one, for the hour ride to the ocean. I was talking too, too much on the way to the warehouse. I don't know if it was just the caffeine, the frustration of running around during rush hour to buy picks, strings, batteries, subs, newspapers, sodas and chips, my long and stressful day at work, pre-gig jitters, or just a combination of all of it. But I couldn't shut up. I was driving everybody crazy. I crashed somewhere between load out and load in at the Saint, and the ride down was quiet.

Big Mouth canceled tonight, which sucked because their cd was really good and I was curious to see them and meet them. But odds are, we would have split before they went on because at the Saint they make you load your gear right out of the club after you're done playing, and who the hell is going to leave all their shit in the car on the street in Asbury Park? It was okay — we got to stall until it looked as though there were more bodies in the room other than our crew and a few barflies. I think we really played well, despite a series of stupid technical problems (and what performance would really be complete without them? I think if we had none I'd feel let down at the end of the set, like we'd forgotten something...)

But the point is, the more I do this the more I start to see and feel things about this pursuit that are new to me, and new to me again. For example, I find myself smiling a lot on stage, maybe out of nervousness, maybe as some sort of inside joke I'm having with myself, like, "Oh shit, do these people watching and listening have any idea of how self-conscious I am up here? Do I look self-conscious, or do I look like I'm having fun? Am I having fun? Or am I self-conscious, nervous, and smiling because I feel so stupid?" It's a fucking joke, really. On the one hand I need those listeners in this pathetic, desperate way. I'm writing and playing these songs with Prosolar Mechanics, and they are so meaningful to me that when I'm in the middle of it I'm really going somewhere else. I want those people to come with me, to see something else other than what's in the room, in front of their faces. I want them to feel something too. Does this have to happen for me to feel validated in how intensely I connect with music? It's a question, really. Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes it's no. The other half of it is that when I'm in the warehouse at statewide with ProMechX, I don't need anybody to feel what I'm feeling or to play what I'm playing. It's real, it's happening, I'm there, I'm going and I don't give a fuck who else joins in. It could be nobody.

What a rough ride we had on this mission. It all started when our chief engineer began coming down with a migraine in the middle of the day. The trooper he is, he was able to stick it out with us for the evening. We met up at my place, a measly two blocks from our destination, and loaded the truck up for the Budapest. We got there, and our pilot's kick drum head was busted. Not all that big of a deal, except that every band on the bill was planning to use his kit, it was a four band night starting at 9:30, and here it is, 8:45, with every damn music store closed. Why do music stores close so early? Do they have any idea how much money they could make on panicky pre-gig musicians realizing they forgot extra strings, picks, drum sticks? Oh well. We located another kit that was only 20 minutes away. Like I said, it's the drama of the last minute details that really adds to the whole experience of the show.

The Loaded Poets were great, great fun. I don't care how many times I see it, but guys wearing ugly dresses and playing pop/punk/rock is still funny. The Cogs were swell too, with their unapologetic lust for 70's pop/punk. Lumous went on after us and brought the evening back into the hands of Satan with their progressive metal howl.

We stalled and went on at midnight. Luckily for us, the evening was running early, because it takes us forever to set up our gear at this place. Maybe because the stage is smaller than my bathroom and we have a lot of cabinets to reckon with. Sometimes I wonder why we bother to drag all of our shit there and cram it into such a tiny space, but somehow having it all surround us is part of the atmosphere. And hell, it's our sound. Who wants to fuck with that?

A series of technical problems dogged us for the entire set. It was even worse than usual. In fact, I would have called this our worst set ever. The constant struggling to keep our equipment functioning while we were playing led us to have a lot of stupid, stupid things go wrong as well, like me tuning and forgetting to turn my standby switch back on (that happens about once a show, though). We got flustered, the sound there never, ever sounds right to me, although it usually sounds fine for the other bands. And we really botched a few things. We felt pretty frustrated, but you know, that's rock and roll. That's space travel. It's just not the same when it all goes smoothly. Somehow it's this coping with crisis that really forces you to stay with the moment.

So anyway, more random thoughts from a mechanic on break from the academy.

Our chief engineer was in Los Angeles this week on holiday so we didn't even practice, and I think it's driving me mad. We've got a few shows coming up and I know when we hit the warehouse this week it will be drill, drill, drill the procedures until we can face our supporters with confidence, knowing we're doing our job. But at the same time I'm getting wrestless with the body of sound we've created so far. I want to keep exploring. We all do, I can feel it. And we've hit some sort of wall. I guess we're wrestling with what kind of band we're going to be. What kind of sound are we going to make? What is it going to do?

Sometimes I wonder how I fit into the whole of humanity. Sometimes I wonder how Prosolar Mechanics fits into the whole of sound, and I wonder where the destinations are that we haven't yet explored. I sit here and write this and I wonder if anyone will read it. And I wonder what they would think if they did. And I wonder why I care, just like in the above entries I wondered why I feel the way I do about playing in front of an audience. The truth is that I realized that when you expose yourself like this, you not only risk looking like an ass, you risk being one. Just by being alive and thinking you risk being a fool, and when you try to share yourself, you risk exposure of your foolishness.

When I'm not trying to join with the collective unconscious consciously, I pursue another type of adventure. I am learning to be another kind of mechanic: a mind mechanic for youth who are in trouble. Not that I can fix whatever problems they may bring me, but I can help them learn to work on them on their own — to be their own mechanics. The experience is wild. It forces you to really think about how you deal with problems of your own. They keep making me ask myself all these questions. Why risk? Why expose yourself when you know you could not only look stupid — you could actually be stupid? So I come back to it, over and over and over again, only to realize that I don't have any answers. I only know that it is worth it somehow. It's worth the risk, even though I can't explain why.

Damn, I've been meaning to get to this report for over a week, and in a few days I'll have another one to write. ProMechX played a show with Drag Pack (also from the hub) and Thorazine a little over a week ago, which left me with a few thoughts to share.

First of all, it was funny to realize that I recognized almost every face in the room. We didn't pack the place, but there was a decent number of folks who showed up to participate in the mayhem. At first I got caught up in the whole, "Shit, there aren't enough people here. The bar won't make enough money and they'll be irritated. Maybe we're not doing enough to promote ourselves, maybe we just aren't all that...blah blah blah." It's the one thing I really hate about playing locally. Like I keep saying, I just don't want to worry about all this business, yet in order for the band to move forward I have to. I can't keep my head up my ass about the business side of sound, and I hate that. I want to write and play music — not sell music. Yet in the real world you need to do both, to an extent.

So there was that. When I got over my neurosis and started playing, I realized something that made me feel very, very good. And that was the fact that every face I could see was actually pointed in our direction. All of those familiar faces were not just there to hang out and support us as friends. They were actually listening to the set. This became very apparent when we played a quiter song, where normally I can hear everyone talking over the music, and I heard nothing but music. I realized that the people who came to the show came to listen and be a part of the experience — which is what I've wanted from the start. And that made me feel great, like we were really getting somewhere with our ability to convey what we're about. We're getting real support from people. They aren't just there because they know us and want to be helpful, but because they actually get something from the sound.

It now feels like the street goes both ways. And maybe it did from the start, but I just didn't see it until this show. I always believed that people could hear ProMechX and they would find something worthwhile and meaningful in it, but I didn't know it was happening. And now I feel that it is. It's quite inspirational to me. And I think the attentiveness of the audience just added to our ability to really bring it on. And we did that this night. It was quite an evening for me.

Really, I don't know what else to say because when I think about it, there's nothing left.

First and foremost, this show was a benefit for the Chai Project, a group that distributes health information and clean syringes, works and condoms to drug addicts and prostitutes in town to help prevent the spread of HIV. It takes the viewpoint of respecting drug users "where they're at" and teaching them how to protect themselves from further harm by way of education and other resources.

I'm down with that. I'd rather believe that people can go to rehab and get their lives back, for sure, than waste away in a heroin induced tragedy. But there's this reality factor and I can't ignore the fact that most people just don't come back from dope. It's too damned hard. Some people do it, I know. God knows how. I smoke cigarettes, and I know what a bitch it is to kick nicotine. I can't imagine kicking dope. So, I was happy to lend my support to Chai and their efforts to reduce the harm that drug addiction brings. I wish them good luck.

When does childhood slip into the oblivion of adult lifestyle?

The show was great. Mike was recovered enough from his migraine to play, and so we set up and kicked it out. Lots of new faces tonight because of the benefit, which was nice. The Chai folks were real appreciative. Aviso Hara gets better every time I see them. Soon they're going to just tear up all of the East Coast. Bionic Rhoda is always a pleasure. I can't explain it, they just make me feel good.

About the set...Poor Mike. Like I said, again he had a damned migraine, which lasted from Thursday evening all the way through Friday evening. In any case, like the trooper he is, he took his place among the mechanics and did what he had to do this night. Thanks Mike.

In the downtime, Alex, Dave and I rapped with Jim Testa of Jersey Beat, also a long time friend of ours. However, when he turned on a tape recorder and asked us a few questions about Prosolar Mechanics, I felt so lifeless. It was funny, because it's not like we haven't all talked at length with Jim about music before, including our own. All of a sudden, I wasn't quite sure what to say. We're a relatively new band with little to talk about other than our ideas. We haven't toured or released anything yet. We talked at length. I just don't know if we actually said anything. Luckily it was Jim. Without a doubt, he'll pull something out of it.

I wish he could have been in the van with us on the way to rehearsal the time we were talking about what Prosolar Mechanics means, or what it could mean. I said to everyone:

"If we were the REAL Prosolar Mechanics from Love and Rockets who flew on spaceships to have adventures on other planets and fix exotic space craft, what role would the music play?"

Dave said, "The songs are destinations. Each song represents another place we would visit, creates the mood or atmosphere of that place."

I said, "I think the songs are the missions. When we write a song, it's a mission to figure out how to do something we haven't done before. Or how to make all of the sounds combine and make something new and interesting."

Alex: "The songs are fuel. I've always sort of thought of bands as spaceships — the music is the fuel of the ship and takes it where it needs to go."

Amy: "What about you Mike? What do you think the music is?"

Mike: "Weightlessness. It should make you feel weightless."

I guess I just refuse to give up my imagination. For me, the fantasy really does describe the reality in its own way. That dialogue above actually explains what our music feels like to each of us. In another similar conversation, we tried to figure out which role we each played as a Prosolar Mechanic. Dave is the ProMechX Pilot, so he thinks in terms of destinations. His drumming really seems to drive us towards something. I'm the principal investigator, and I'm always trying to figure out how to put the whole picture together. I don't even just think in terms of a whole song — I think about how the whole set should feel and what it should do. Alex doesn't have a ProMechX handle like the rest of us, but he needs one (suggestions welcome). He really does think in terms of fuel, and if I think of his playing, it is always him adding that dimension of "lift off." He's really the spark or ignition in a lot of ways, even down to the fact that he started the band. A lot of our songs come from his initial ideas, even when the idea is just a short but grabbing guitar sound. And Mike is the Chief Engineer. He looks for the technical route to finding the right nuances or forces to give the music a particular feel. He does the most experimenting with effects and does put some of the more "spacey" vibe into the sound.

So there's that. Since I have no stories from the road, really, and no cd to go on about, I talk about what is happening. I talk about writing our songs, rehearsing, talking about it, and playing in our town. Someday maybe I will have more to say about those other things...Then again, maybe I won't.

There's a new theory in physics that seeks to unify all that is known about how life is put together. The theory is called "string theory" and it proposes that all of life, atoms and shit like that, are composed of strings that vibrate at different frequencies, making different "harmonies" that construct the way all things in the universe operate. Can you imagine what good news that is to a guitarist? It's like that intense connection you feel with the instrument and the sounds that come from it have some sort of deeper significance after all. Maybe in some strange way, the musicians of the world, if not understanding the very foundation of life, are still replicating it.

Makes you think, doesn't it?

This was a legendary mission, given that it was the mechanics' first long-distance mission (the destination was a good 11 hour drive south), and that the mission was also our first in almost 3 months. Mike had been in California due to a family emergency. He came back after two months, and a little over a week later, we were on the road to WE Fest.

Getting back in shape for the mission was no easy task. We had played the set we performed many times before, but being away from our material for that period of time meant we had to drill, drill, drill. We remembered everything just fine, but the anxiety level was a little high. No matter. I was also in the middle of quitting cigarettes. It made me more than a little bit difficult to deal with. I was either yelling or crying, or sulking. To top it off, we were in the middle of a printing crisis, trying to get the covers of our first 7" ready in time for WE. In the end, it all worked out just fine. I guess somehow in life, it always does.

The trip down was rather peaceful, if long. Dave was the furthest south he's ever been. We arrived in Wilmington at around midnight, not knowing what to expect. The people associated with WE Fest assured us that we would be taken care of. Being cynical New Jersey types, we had no idea of what that meant. However, we showed up and were immediately offered floor space at a beach house from total strangers. Given we were in the south, we accepted.

The folks who offered us lodging were truly hospitable southerners. They had rented this great three bedroom beach house at Wrightsville beach for the week with the intent of providing bands with a place to crash for the festival. They were just there to enjoy the shows and the sun. Two of them, Chris and Jamie, are in a band from NC called Second Sky. We all hit it off just fine. I think we were a little blown away by how nice everyone was. I know that I feel a real debt to Karma, anyway.

It was so damned hot that week. Thank god the south is equipped with air conditioning. Everywhere you go is climate controlled bliss. We walked into town and ate, came back to the house and assembled our records. Then it was dinner and the Monday night show in Wilmington.

The Monday night show was male emo-core heaven. There was so much male sensitivity in the bar I thought I was going to pass out from it. Every band blew me away, and it didn't hurt that Monday was "Men in Skirts" night, with many of the males in the audience donning dresses and skirts for the occasion. I don't know. It just added something. And I don't care, like I said before, no matter how many times I see it, men in dresses is funny.

The line up for Monday was the Scrapers (Raleigh, NC), a hard trio that reminded me of Helmet and the Melvins. Next was Land Speed Record (Baltimore), who were quirky and almost progressive, but really very creative. They reminded me a lot of NJ's own Wrens. We missed Smarty Pants from Oklahoma because we had to eat. I heard they were also quite swell. We did catch the Scott Farkus Affair, who were my favorite band that I saw down there. I mean, those guys for all of their aggressive guitar work and screaming vocals were downright emotional. They're from Baltimore as well. Then there was JackBeast, from Dublin Ireland. Many people were saying that these guys were incredible as well. Unfortunately, by this point in the show I was so drunk I had to sit on the curb outside to keep from throwing up. Through the walls of the club they did sound great. And they flew all the way from Ireland to play this festival, with the help of the folks from WE. Two NJ bands, Bob Fields and Footstone finished the night off.

We played on the following evening at Cowboys. Now, unfortunately, I was too nervous to really watch or pay attention to the rest of the bill, but from what I was told, it was another great line up. Bruce was kicked out of the club, so we didn't get to see him. He played down the street at the WE storefront. Then there was this guy named Dan Cray who played simple, melodic songs with just a fuzzy guitar and slurred, drunken but sincere sounding vocals. The Mayflies USA were very Super Drag-esque, from what I hear. Then it was us. We were too loud! I'll explain later. After we played, the Mooney Suzuki from NYC went, and then another Ireland band, Raw Novembre. I'd be more descriptive, but like I said, I was too nervous to really pay attention.

Our set? Well, like I said before, it was our first in a few months. We had every single technical problem you can have during a set. Every single one. I kept getting shocked by the microphone. My guitar was either too loud or too quiet. I kicked the patch cord out of my tube screamer, and knocked a string off of my bridge. Mike's big muff pedal just quit in the middle of a song and then came back to life. Alex was having all sorts of trouble. And Dave's drum kit was half way across the stage after every song. It felt quite disasterous. I know I sang like a sick cow. I was just out of practice and couldn't hear anything. And I kept getting shocked. But I was having so much damned fun, and the crowd was so appreciative and encouraging, it just didn't matter. It was the first show where I was just so happy to be up there playing, that I didn't care. It felt so good, despite the problems, that it had to be good. I just meant it. Every note, every word, every fuck up. I meant every second with all that I had. It was just that kind of show. We had come all that way and had seen so much great music. I was honestly so honored that we were included among the many fantastic, creative bands that played this festival, that I felt determined to step up to it. Nothing was going to stop us. And although we left the stage thinking, "That was easily one of our most disasterous sets ever..." I was so happy and so high, it didn't matter.

The people at WE Fest were amazing. Friendly, encouraging, helpful, into it. Everyone was there for a purpose — to make and hear some great music. We met a ton of bands and other people. We made a lot of friends, and we intend to go back next year to hang out. Maybe we'll even get our own beach house and put some bands up from out of town.

So the time has come and the mechanics have finally taken a large group breath and stepped into the foray of gotham. I can not help but wonder where the underground has gone because I can't find it in the clubs any longer. I just feel as though things musical have once again become confused with something else. Maybe a lot of other things, and things I can't readily name.

The mechanics did what they were supposed to do tonight. And there was a nice showing of friends of mechanics in the room too. We left hopeful that we could return another time and perhaps connect there again. Tonight was really some sort of test for us. Could we hold our own against the Manhattan rock scene? Were we going to be memorable, and would we keep our nerve and our promise to deliver? We played our music just fine and I believe there were even a few converts in the room.

That isn't here or there. What I really want to talk about is how tired I am these days, and about how as much as I love the mechanics and being a Prosolar Mechanic, things in my life are changing and I'm really having some trouble adjusting. I really want to talk about how that affected me tonight and recently. How I haven't had time to update the Information Hub, mail 7 inches, finish the vocals on our new demo, or write new material. I really want to do all those things but I'm feeling too stretched and worn out to do much of anything these days. The show tonight was good and I'm happy about how we did. I'm excited that we broke into that diabolical scene and began that long arduous process of paying our dues. New Brunswick has been so kind to us, but it's time the mechanics started an aggressive outreach campaign.

Ramble, ramble, ramble.

Sometimes things just happen and it feels as though it's all going to fall into place after all. There's no particular reason, or at least none discernible from the surface. But it feels different and for once that difference feels right.

With all that's been happening in my own life recently, I had really forgotten the way hope is. I had forgotten where it comes from. Not that I was feeling particularly hope-less. But I have been so wrapped up in a new, demanding and sometimes overly intense job that I have lost time that I used to spend dreaming. Really. Just adjusting and hanging in there day to day has been enough to use me all up.

Today is different. Last night we played the Melody with Aviso Hara, Scott Farkus Affair from Baltimore (and from WE Fest — see above entry), and another band called Sonnie Sixkiller. I just really enjoyed the whole show, and for once I didn't worry about a thing. From the first song of the first band, all through our set, all the way to Aviso's last song. There was also this kismet thing where a bunch of folks from WE Fest happened to be in town for a wedding and came to the show, egging us all on all night. It was so much fun, I actually remembered why I do this in the first place. It's so nice to get that feeling back again.

I try to keep it fresh in my mind, but then there are these damned aspirations that get in the way. Honestly. So when the turnout is small, or when we make a lot of mistakes, or when I feel like I sang poorly, or that the other bands didn't have fun, it overwhelms me and takes the joy out of the experience. Sometimes it's so bad, I get to the point where I'd just rather the mechanics stayed in the lab because I just can't relax enough to have fun anymore. It says something important about fear. I can't pretend I haven't any when it comes to this.

And I know it's not good to be extreme like that. It will ruin you. Then sometimes you get lucky, spend some time with new friends and old friends who bring you out, let go, and you're saved for now.

Alex and I picked up Mike, who was again fighting another migraine, drove to j.c. to get Dave, and then headed underground. I do not do well in the van when we must travel in the city. I usually need to put my head in my hands and lower my head until we are safely parked somewhere. All the noise, the cabs, the pedestrians jumping out into traffic. Maybe I'm much more sensitive to fender-benders than I originally thought. The older I get, the more pain and suffering seems a reality I need to avoid whenever possible.

Anyway, we arrived at our destination just in time to find out that there might not be a mission after all. The PA was down, and the soundwoman was scrambling all over the stage with a tiny flashlight and cables, yelling at her assistant to plug this in, then that. Muffled thuds came out of the left side of the PA. It didn't look good for rock there for a while. But by 8pm she had figured it out and we were setting up our gear, preparing for the trip ahead.

A handful of friends and stragglers entered the club and we turned it on. Lights blaring, beating down on our heads. The noise from our set was intense, and by the end of it, Mike almost passed out. Sensation without chemical stimulants again. That's a beautiful thing. Baby, so true to real life. Today he is lying in bed with an ice pack. But I'll rant about the state of healthcare in some other forum.

We quietly packed our things and left once the second band was through with their set. Home by midnight and the weeks pass quickly now...