prosolar mechanics
sound breaking the monotony of space
Holy. Living. Fuck.
Mechanics take to the road for two solid weeks of motion, sound, thoughts. Time zones. Halloween on the highway. There's a full moon and we know the kids at home won't be going door to door this year. I'm trying to put the fear in its place and just move along. Heard a woman in New York City died today from inhalation anthrax and no one can say how she got it. Even though they say our chances of getting hit by lightning are better than getting anthrax, and I know that on the road we're more likely to total the van than fall victim to a bioterrorist attack, I am unnerved. It's hard to shake the feeling that someone wants me dead, and it isn't personal. It's just because I'm an American.
Every once in a while I'm struck by the fact that we're really at war. People, some innocent and unlucky, some who are ready and willing to die for their cause are being killed by bombs, missiles I bought with my income tax contribution, "they," those fighting the supposed jihad, are trying to kill us in secret, kill our desire and our confidence. Part of my brain still cannot accept this is the time I'm living in, even though part of me always knew something like this was coming. It's what it all means that I still can't settle on.
Given all that, all I can say is there's no time like the present to be on the road. I'd always rather be a moving target than a sitting duck.
It all started back in May this year, at WE Fest. Plug Spark Sanjay had been on the road for about 8 weeks when they met us in North Carolina at the festival, which we'd raved to them about for two years. "In the fall when we go, come with us" they said. And here we are.
They'd been out 7 weeks this time before we joined them in Athens, GA. Friday 10/26 we got off to our usual timely start and left NJ at around 10pm in a flurry of last minute details. Got the call from Joe at about 4pm that day — Ernie's grandma had passed away and he had hopped a bus back home to attend the wake and funeral. He'll be back to join us in Charleston, SC on 11/1. But in the meantime, could Tom learn some of the songs and fill in? Joe wanted to know. In my customary dictatorial fashion, I assured Joe it would be no problem. Luckily Tom was feeling it. Now all we had to do was scrounge up a copy of Fuse Time for the Working Force — the last PSS cd. See, we'd sent every last copy we could get our hands on to clubs we were trying to book for the last two weeks of the tour. Finally Dewey Defeated came through. We picked up their copy, they gave us one hell of a rock and roll send off and we were on our way.
Tom rocked out in the van, listening over and over to the Sanjay cds trying to prepare himself to hop up onstage. What a trooper.
Damn did we make good time. The one upshot of leaving at 10pm at night. We were on the other side of DC by 1am — an amazing feat of driving for 95 South on a Friday night. Adrenaline kept us going for several hours until at around 6am, when we were well into North Carolina, the lines on the road began to jiggle and sway. Even the most inane conversation I could muster couldn't keep Alex going — 3 miles to the next rest area was even too dangerous a trek in that state. But we made it, somewhere outside of Greensboro NC to the oasis of the highway. We pulled in and slept uncomfortably for about 2 hours. Surprisingly, it was all we needed to make the next leg of the trip. Good thing, because it was all we could get in such cramped uncomfortable quarters this vessel affords us. We love our van, don't get us wrong. It's just not meant for sleeping 4 adults carrying an entire cargo load of gear.
Overshot Athens, GA on purpose to go rest up and hang out with Christie Crowley of WE Fest fame and her beau Judd, who was kind enough to put us up for the night. At around 1pm we arrived, stinking and reeling from the 14 hour ride we'd just taken. We napped for a few hours and then got ready for the show in Athens.
What do you mean the Strokes are at the 40 Watt tonight?
Thought we might get some overflow from the kids who couldn't make it in to the Strokes show, at least. After all, there was a line around the fucking block to see them and it was a sold out show. We were not even a block away. Let's just say it was a rather thin night. And not to be the last. But we were pretty prepared for that — who the hell has ever heard of us in Athens? Plug Spark has had better nights in that club, but then again, not when the Strokes are in town. We rocked it out anyway, and it sounded surprisingly good in there. Tom had his first night on drums with Plug Spark Sanjay and did a damned good job for no rehearsal. First show down, 14 more days to go!
The show we thought we were playing at Uncle Doctors in Columbia South Carolina fell apart, so we hung out in Murfreesboro for the better part of the day with our new friend Sharon, a 20 year old woman with the heart of a saint and a soul for rock.
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I know what I want, and it comes from the gut. My problem is that instead of leading with my senses I subordinate every goddamn impulse to thought. I admit, I think very well. I'm a good thinker. A decent problem solver. But when it comes to emotions I sadly admit that the older I get the more I suck at it.
I wish I could remember the Wordsworth poem that had something to do with children and elderly people, who are on either end of life on earth, being the closest to the "truth" or to god or whatever you want to call it. Why is being an adult so complicated and lonely sometimes? All I really want is to be able to connect with other people and I can't even know myself half the time. Where the fuck did I go, why did I leave and how the hell am I ever going to find my way back?
On the road I keep asking myself why, at this stage in my life, why do I still do this? Why do I forsake advancement in my career, marriage, children in order to continue to play in an obscure, unknown rock band? Am I running away from adulthood? Am I nuts?
But the truth is I don't think I am any of those things. Sure, there are things I run from but those things are internal. Music is my best hope for coming back, and in truth I really want to find my way back to that space in my head where I know who I am, I know why I do the things I do and I can meet you, whoever you might be in whatever the moment is and really be open to you. It seems so simple but it's not.
So we had this long, intense and at times suffering conversation in the car about the band, the process of our performance, what we think is happening and what we want to happen, and I just became so frustrated and sad. It's not a bad place to be, because at least I feel something that forces me to stay with whatever it is that's going on. I'm not running away with thoughts of the future for once. I'm staying in the shit and sorting it out.
So it's being good to me, this road thing. Four days in, one night off and ten to go.
We were early enough — 4pm pulled into the place. Found Ernie, which was great. Walked into town for supplies.
Weird, weird fucking place. The crowd was half Counting Crows half Britney Spears. Royal bitch of an owner/bartender who ended up charging us a $10 bar tab for one Budweiser, which we didn't pick up on until too late. Playing went well enough. Starting to not let bullshit we put up with interfere with performance, which is a plus.
Stayed with James Cooper's parents. They fed us. James followed us to Boone the next day.
Took Michael Mixt to the ER to get prednisone for his rash.
We love Boone.
Stayed with Karl and Leah. Plug Spark Sanjay stayed with some dude named Jeff who lives in the oldest building in Boone — no heat. It was an old jail cell. We stayed on top of a fucking mountain — I really believed we wouldn't make it up the driveway.
We love Bobby Cardoni. We hate Rock Itz. They made us pay full price for everything because "It's Sunday and no one is going to be here tonight." Of course, it was easily one of their better Sunday nights in terms of crowds. But fine, no problem. Then the owner tries to rip us off for $100 off the door until Bobby straightens it out. Then the owner tells me he wants to be comped a free t-shirt in each color.
Dick!