New York Night 2:
Spent most of our day nursing a couple hangovers. That night we played in Greenpoint, which is around the corner from Williamsburg in Brooklyn so we figured a few of our friends there would come out. Tommy’s Tavern where we played was a real live dive with a converted murder closet for a performance area. A few rugs strewn around the floor, a couple squares of sound proofing hung lackadaisically on the walls, and the mics that elicit a low electric current into your lips when you get too close. Luckily we brought some kids out because the other bands that night didn’t bring out many to speak of. It’s real unfortunate when things like that happen. Because of none of the locals that night bothered to mention that the bands are supposed to run their own door no one did. We expressed to the bartender that we did bring people out who bought drinks, hence money for the bar, and she gave us some cash for that, and with merch sales it was a decent night. Some of the guys went home and some of us went to Red Hook.
Boston:
We split for Boston the next day and it took us an hour to get through the city. Blake was white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel, furiously smoking cigarettes, and yelling at all of us to calm down as he navigated the blocks toward the interstate. Our friends in Movers & Shakers let us use their practice space/recording studio/makeshift venue, Starlab, to play at. The weather was shitty, and cops were driving around telling the city that there was going to be a “snow emergency” and that folks should just go ahead and stay home. Didn’t bode well for our show. Some people braved the snow, and official warnings to hang out and play with us, which was cool. Really the best part was getting to see the M&S dudes again and get fucked up with them. And boy did we get fucked up. Apparently there’s video of me attempting play one of the newer songs and absolutely botching it. My brain could not communicate with my arms and hands. All notion of rhythm was completely abandoned. Words and lyrics were lost in my mouth. It was a total cranial mutiny. Ah, well.
Danbury, CT:
We woke up to a few inches of snow on the ground, and bought lunch with band money, which is always nice. I will say most of our basic needs are being taken care of with money we make. Mostly gas and sandwich makings/ramen noodles from Wal-Mart. As soon as we can start partying with our dough we’ll know that we’ve truly arrived. We got to Danbury just about sundown. It was probably the coldest night so far. The frozen snow blanketed the ground, and blackened pillars of ice stood on every corner. The Heirloom Arts Theatre was probably the nicest we’ve played so far; large capacity, professional stage and sound system, built at least somewhat acoustically. The lineup was totally bananas though. There were already something like six bands playing and we were informed upon arrival that a show in some town close-by had been cancelled and now Casey Jones and Knuckle Up! had been added to the tail end of the bill. Essentially our already packed show had become a mini-fest. We played after this ridiculous band that had a singer who looked like Tom DeLonge and mixed mid-nineties mainstream pop-punk, with metalcore breakdowns, and some out of place death metal wails peppered throughout the songs. It was painful. We did our little boogie-woogie to a bunch of sixteen year olds, and the bands. We soon realized that every band on the bill, save for ourselves, were some kind of horrible Dr. Mureau-style pop/rock abomination evolved from something that once bore a resemblance to actual punk or rock. One band was particularly terrible with a singer who sported what looked to be an excited animal on his head, an 80’s teased nightmare. They did a Grease cover. Luckily the staff was awesome. They were a motley crew (the Gut Rot Crew to be exact) of aging punkers and metal heads. They enjoyed our band and us as people and decided to commiserate with us by feeding us free beers. Chris, one of the owners of the Heirloom, offered up his house for us to crash. Imagine the Paper Street Soap Company from Fight Club, throw in fifteen-plus years of punk rock parties and motorcycle club meetings, a little black mold, and varmints in the attic and you’ve got the Triangle Street House. A holy place to the counterculture of Danbury. In a small way I was honored. Chris cooked some rice and sausage for us, regaled us with stories of times past, and played Dumb and Dumber on VHS.
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