Alex here. Threw my back out the other day. Must've been when we were loading Monday night — the a-grav lifts were on the fritz and we had to carry the gear by hand. It hurt like hell Tuesday right before the show. The show at Cook's went well, though, despite the low turnout which bummed out the booker/promoter Alec. But Tuesday night on short notice with three local bands — it's a tough thing in New Brumfuss. Not everybody can just jump out of orbit on command. I thought the people who did show up, especially the students, were awesome. We played fairly well and had a good time talking with all the folks we knew and some we'd just met. Sold some cds and a t-shirt. People signed the mailing list. All that stuff makes me happy and drags me down at the same time. There's so much hype about music all the time. I hate hyping stuff. It just seems like another layer of crap between the experience of the player and the experience of the listener. It should be the music that you connect with. Not the cool logo or the look or the attitude. I don't know, I guess that's all part of it too. I just get sick of the advertising. Amy and Mike and I had a huge discussion last week about ads. Most of which I can't remember or don't want to dredge through. It's just that advertising is so much not the thing itself. It's a meta-version of the band. One more thing in between the listener and the player. As an artifact on its own, maybe it's interesting, but then, it definitely is NOT the music. The music is what I'm trying to get at and find myself dogged at every turn by details and other things to do. Tonight it's my back. So, I'll take the time and send out some cds and do some other promotion stuff, which I'm pretty good at. But which still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I'd rather be in the warehouse, plugged in, amp hot as the July desert and the guitar making the sound all by itself, telling my hands where to move. Wanna come?

Here we were, back in the Village for another go 'round with some of Manhattan's finest tourists, bartenders and baseball fans. We took on the damn World Series this night, and so did Britt Daniel (of Spoon), Holmes, Teenbeaters, and Rye Coalition. This was a bill we needed to step up for, regardless of the world series. Not that any bill isn't. But given our particular feelings towards these other bands, well, we knew it really had to count.

Let me tell you what happened.

I rush home from another day of being overworked at the psych hospital. I'm home on time for the first time in many months. It's 5:15pm and we need to get in the ship by 5:30 in order to get to the city on time because we're on first. Time wasn't our problem — usually isn't. We're a conscientious band, beyond whatever sonic promise we may or may not deliver on. Our problems started when some asshole in a Toyota Corolla drove into the side of us trying to merge into the Holland Tunnel. We weren't even moving. He pulled over after the tunnel and gave us lip about how we hit him! At some other point in time it could have been amusing. We really don't give a fuck — our van is an ugly tank meant for one purpose: transport. And he left no mark on us. He did put a nice long gash in the side of his car, and he destroyed his mirror. I guess some people just need someone to blame. He wasn't that dumb — he blew it off before getting to the point of calling the police. So we left the scene irritated and not too late yet.

Not 90 seconds later and we are at a dead stop at a traffic light. Some poor guy on a bike is trying to squeeze between us and another car in the road, but at his speed he misjudged and clocked his head on our mirror. That had to hurt.

Now let's say it's about 20 minutes from exiting the tunnel and we're parked in front of the bar unloading our gear. Those dear friends of ours now, John from Plug Spark Sanjay and Zam from Teenbeaters, are helping to unload our stuff, and we get a parking ticket. Alex runs over to the NY Pig and politely explains that we're quickly unloading our things for a performance and will be moving very shortly. Nice cop. "Maybe if you leave it on your window I won't give you another one in 5 minutes when I come back." Zero Tolerance.

We haven't even met the soundman yet and I've got a bad feeling about this night.

It was one of those evenings where I lead myself to this hysteria. I am so excited to be on this bill and playing the city again. New friends of ours from Hazard County, this management/promotions team who works with Teenbeaters, put together the show and kindly offered us the opening slot. I wanted to put so far out people would go home limping when it was over. But I get caught up in hassles and can't put them down enough to perform, really. I'm all business and the new science and business don't mix.

There were again pressures not to use our own gear, which I truly fucking hate. I mean, what is up with clubs and bands these days? I know I'm not a rock star but is it really too much for musicians to want to play their own instruments when they perform? We take ourselves seriously, and drums, amps and cabinets ARE instruments as well. They each sound different. Some of us give a shit how they sound — so sorry. Our end of the deal is to write and play good music right? So let us do it already.

This internal struggle happens with me before our gear is even on stage. The soundman was a bit frazzled when we requested to use our own drums and bass cabinet, but in the end he was fine with it. Yet I continue to feel pissed when I think about this. See where I'm headed now?

Do you see a progression? Some type of hysteria building before we even play a single note. It's not good. Anyone might be able to guess where this story goes from here.

On this night my downward spiral was quickly reigned in. And believe it or not, all in all the show really was okay. The monitors were evil — loud piercing telephone in my face but I was too anxious to talk to the soundguy about it so I muddled through as I could yet internally cringing for much of the set. Dave broke his snare drum with 2 songs left to go. And it was okay, because I know it could have never lived up to the expectations I had set on myself or my fellow mechanics. Nothing could have, and that's because it matters so much to me and in many ways I am still so damned self-defeating that I get caught in a perpetual set-up.

These days I am more determined not to give a damn about the shows. Don't take this the wrong way. I just need to remember how to enjoy them and stop worrying so much about how other people feel about us. After we were finished with our set I went for a fast walk around the block, tired myself out a bit and had a couple of beers. Then I began to realize that if I wasn't having a good time, there wasn't any point. The show was over. I hung out with friends, enjoyed the other bands and it was all right. I began to see the point again. Yes, music is the point for me. But I can't control music anymore than I can control some asshole in a Toyota driving into my parked van, or some random bike driving into the driver's mirror. I have to live it like anything, and anyone else. And that's a good thing, isn't it?

The party is finally over and I want to get this all down and out of me before I slip off into this physical weariness I sense coming over me. We played last night with Ex Models, Plug Spark Sanjay and Cropduster. At the Melody. In New Brunswick. I was pleased — a great bill. But I still say 4 band bills are a bit hectic for me. And what was with the Bartender doing sound? Poor guy. But enough of that.

Given the thoughts I was having from the last show, we decided to have some friends and the other bands back to our place for a late night (much in the tradition of WE Fest). Now, in case you weren't sure I am really not all that great at parties. Sometimes I can do the socializing thing very well, but then there's this anxiety I get when I want to entertain. I mean, what if I'm not all that great company? (I judge this by the company I keep with myself when all is quiet, and sometimes it's downright boring.) So with every venture I suppose there's some self-doubt. Is it me or everybody? And is there ever a point where you grow out of all this insecurity? I'm still waiting for my acne to subside too, come to think of it.

We had representation from all rock bands at our house, and then some. That was real, real nice. All these people we know from clubs and the a.k.a. "scene" but never have the chance to really sit with when the pressure's off. So representatives from ExModels, Plugspark Sanjay, and Cropduster all made the late night appearance at the Prosolar Hub. Plus good friends from Aviso Hara, Cassanovacane, Jim Testa, and more. There was Bread, amigo to the stars, doing his interpretive dance of bagels and pretzels into the dawn. We had a private showing of the new top-secret HQ for Prosolar Labs. We listened to records — RECORDS! Not cd's. We drank like hell and chattered about anything and everything. Solar systems and constellations under the city sky and whether you'd rather have sex with Debbie Gibson or Tiffany. Mike of ExModels and our dear Dave went with that debate for quite sometime, neither convincing the other (or dare I say anyone else?) of their take on that situation.

The hang went on until light broke, and although the hosts were asleep, those boys from Plugspark and co. had stumbled upon an ancient replica of Darth Vader (a talking bank, no less), and kept spirits from dragging until I'd guess around 8am. They fell into comas shortly thereafter.

Morning brought a field trip to guitar center, with Joe of Plugspark Sanjay in the lead for the one-car cannon ball run to and from East Brunswick. I have finally accepted that he is insane, perhaps in the nicest of all ways. I knew he was gregarious, playful, outgoing and funny. But he is definitely insane. And very good company, at that.

It all just seems to confirm the same point over and over again, doesn't it? No matter what, live. Enjoy what you can. Take lightness and comfort in the presence of others whenever possible.

Mission complete.