JEFF TUOHY tours in support of Breaking Down the Silence.
1/12/07 - 169 Bar - New York, New York
1/13/07 - Cafe Arabica - Morristown, New Jersey
1/16/07 - Grape Street Pub - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
1/17/07 - Grog and Tankard - Washington DC
Somewhere Between D.C. and Charleston, SC
We ripped the awning off our rented motor home.
Bruce Springsteen told us a lot about the streets of Philadelphia. I wish he would’ve told us we can’t fit our 8 and-a-half foot RV on our way to finding the ultimate cheese steak.
We are relatively disappointed by this. Our patio will not be the same when we are sipping Coronas in Tucson, Arizona.
We are seven individuals traveling in a 22-foot motor home across the United States. Over the course of 40 days, we will play 33 shows from New York City to Los Angeles, and back. The finest accommodations we will have are Days Inns (with an occasional Motel 6). Some nights we play to 75-100 people. On others we play for 5-10. Venues range from chill hookah cafes to college town rock clubs. Every gig, no matter what, we play the best set possible, and try to turn strangers into fans. The drives will be long, and I suspect we will spend a lot of time telling not so good jokes while eating carrots with garlic hummus. I love it.
The preceding two weeks were spent on six hour-a-day rehearsals, and late nights (or early mornings), sending out press packs, personalized letters to editors, etc. Most of said letters will likely not be opened or paid much attention to for one of two reasons: 1) We are not big enough rock stars (yet?); 2) We used a publication claiming to have updated contact info for editors, radio stations and clubs. This was foolish. I probably should have (whoa, Capitol Hill) done a bit more research after realizing they were still listing several clubs that have been closed anywhere from a month to a year and -a-half. Oh well.
The guys in this band are sick. You might have heard some of their past projects if you are from the Northeast: Spookie Daly Pride, Adios Pantalones, The Silent Groove… I’ll get some quick details out of the way, so I do not have to continually reference people by their role.
Paul- our driver
Caroline- tour manager
Floyd Kellogg- bass, vocals
Jeremy Goldsmith- guitar, vocals
Omer Shemesh- keys
Don Fortin- Drums.
The first gig was Tuesday at Grape Street in Philadelphia, PA. We arrived at the club around 6 PM and loaded all of the stuff onto the stage. With a little time to kill and hunger in our bellies, we asked where we could find the best Philly Cheese Steak. We were instructed to go to Chubbie’s which was, “up the hill and to the left.”
This was the hill on which the aforementioned awning incident occurred. After a bit of head scratching paired with disbelief and awkward laughs, we climbed atop the RV and figured a way to reattach the unnecessary accessory which we probably would not have used anyway. It was nice to see the teamwork kick in right away despite a now looming deduction from our security deposit.
I recommend stopping by Grape Street if you are ever in Philly. It’s a large, stone building that has two live, original music rooms and a DJ floor. We can’t wait to go back.
Our condolences go out to our friends Metcalf and Ann whose parked car was slammed by a drunk driver while they were hanging out on the RV (from this point forward, for no particular reason, the RV will be referred to as “The Pig”).
The guy tried to get away. His car wouldn’t move. Instant karma.
The next day we made a stop in Delaware for a television appearance on the Tim Quaills Show. Though I was the only one to actually appear on the show, the band was still able to reap benefits: Mexican food provided by the very hospitable Positive Productions.
The other guests on the show were Jiggles the clown and Miss Delaware.
Miss Delaware was really down to earth…
Jiggles was a nasty juggler. We would’ve invited him to party on The Pig, but we had to make our way to DC to play the Grog and Tankard.
Every now and then I have my dork moments. Last night was one of them. I couldn’t help, but be excited we were playing on the same stage once graced by a young Dave Matthews Band, Vertical Horizon and more. The place is legendary. Like Grape Street, cannot wait to go back.
Today has mostly been driving. It took half an hour to get our per diem cash from the bank since their ATM was shot. Floyd came into the bank and asked Caroline and me if we were taking out a mortgage. Ha.
We have unanimously decided the people who design and build these RVs do not road test them. The funniest moment, in my opinion, was watching Floyd try to keep the groceries and Bud Ices from avalanching onto the floor while going around a hairpin turn.
Best songs to appear on i-Pod shuffle today: “I Wanna Know What Love Is” by Foreigner, “Wheel In the sky” by Journey, “Nuthin’ But a G-Thang” by Dr. Dre, and “Black Cow” by Steely Dan (playing now).
Thanks for reading.
-Jeff
1/18/07 - Med Bistro - Charleston, South Carolina
1/19/07 - Ten High Club - Atlanta, Georgia
1/20/07 - Rooster's - Auburn, Alabama
1/21/07 - Zydeco's - Birmingham, Alabama
I am in my room diligently attempting to piece together the last few days. After a while, the highways and hotels look the same (kind of sounds like a country lyric).
On Thursday we pulled into Charleston, SC, which I now regard as possibly the most beautiful town in which I have stepped foot. However, like most cities, it also has its ghetto- Motel 6.
After washing my hair and inspecting my sheets for suspicious stains (they do have hourly rates), I exit the room to find Caroline being harassed by a local policewoman. One of Charleston’s finest was skeptical of our tour manager’s intentions. She was strutting down the parking lot wearing a leather jacket with black pants, smoking a cigarette and carrying cherry red purse. (You realize I am describing Caroline and not the policewoman, right?) After a persuasive discussion, we realized Caroline’s attire was not the problem. It was where we were staying. I felt apprehensive about our lodging selection for the rest of the night.
The gig was at a restaurant in a strip mall. Floyd has coined the term “menu venue” for such establishments. We were double booked. The other act was an open mic. Our gear took up ¾ of the entrance and after setting up, the band spilled off the stage, in front of the entrance and wine rack.
The staff was apologetic telling us we could start our 45-minute set and then be on our way. They thought we were going to suck. I can’ t blame them. Who the Hell travels from NYC to play a Mediterranean Bistro? Floyd was reluctant to even bother unloading his bass cabinet and head.
Second song in, we were invited to play the entire night. By the third, patrons were putting band drinks on their tabs. We ended up having a blast, moving a handful of discs (including one at Huddle House after the gig), and thoroughly enjoying listening to each other play.
I used to be so discouraged showing up to those kind of gigs. Now, I make the best of it. If there are only 12 audience members, I want all 12 leaving as fans. If the venue seems inappropriate, we ask the crowd where we should play next time and drop off a press pack before we skip town the next day.
Ten High Club in Atlanta was our most well attended show thus far with 100+ people. It was one of those nights where everything seemed to come together. An audience for whom we had never played was extremely welcoming and by the end of the night we had sold 20 CDs and filled our email list. Now, 20 CDs might not sound like a lot to some of you when comparing that to how many discs popular, major label bands sell. However, an independent band on the road selling 20 discs to a group of strangers is no small feat. They could’ve bought two more Pabst’s and a shot of Jaeger and instead they invested in our music (…our music will be better to their liver in the long run). I become excited thinking of 20 people and their friends listening to our music. Hopefully, I never lose this appreciation. Thank you Georgia.
The next day, I had a craving for sushi. As a result, I forced the group to travel 15 minutes in the opposite direction of Auburn, AL so I could dine on raw fish in Decatur. Everyone asked if I could wait until Alabama for sushi, but I was positive there would not be an acceptable restaurant near the hotel. Turns out, there was one ATTACHED to the hotel. Whoops. Omer has commented that, to me, this tour is ultimately about my quest for sushi. What am I supposed to do though? A) Sushi is delectable and B) it is oh so healthy. On the plus side, we found a great little music store while in Decatur named Decatur CD where the owner offered to carry Breaking Down the Silence.
Auburn is a nice, little college town and I was very excited to be in Alabama for my first time, but I am particularly enthusiastic about the story of Birmingham for the sake of keeping you amused, so moving on.
The show was at Zydeco- a huge room with a capacity of about 400 (estimate). When we arrived, the only people there were the manager, soundman, and bartender. Sobering. In an effort to not play an empty house, we hit the downtown area, invading various local bars to invite random people to our gig beginning in 30 minutes. We recruited five. Not bad.
Following an hour-long set, we were invited to an after hours club called Marty’s for a late night hang. Upon our arrival, I inquired about performing an impromptu, late night set from 2 AM until 4 AM. For some reason, he said yes. I would have said no. Some crazy, short kid with fingers in the socket hair walks into my bar and asks me to set up and play…
There was no P.A. I spent the opening half hour singing sans microphone for the 16 patrons present. Miraculously, a line began forming out the door. Next thing we knew, there were 35-40 people watching a show we had booked 30 minutes prior. Thankfully, someone showed up with a mic with a ¼ inch jack I could plug into my guitar amp. I guess fate was on our side that night, and though the crew only got 4 hours of sleep, it was worth the several albums we sold and scrumptious patty melts we received as payment. Rock N’ Roll.
1/22/07 - Natasha's Cafe - Lexington, Kentucky
1/23/07 - Cooper's on Main - Cincinnati, Ohio
1/24/07 - Rudyard Kipling - Louisville, Kentucky
1/25/07 - Birdy's - Indianapolis, Indiana
1/26/07 - The Klinic Bar - Madison, Wisconsin
1/27/07 - Joe's Sports Bar - Chicago, Illinois
1/28/07 - The Belmont - Hamtramck, Michigan
The climate of Dayton, OH is frigid. The city also has an abundance of Adult Erotic shops. I find it refreshing (the weather, that is). It was difficult getting into the holiday spirit while eating on a restaurant patio at the corner of 14th and 9th in a t-shirt. I was bitter when my girlfriend told me Connecticut and NYC (two locations I call home) received their first snowfall, two days following our departure. The past few days have made-up for this snow deficit. It is a miracle we made it to the gig outside of Detroit on Sunday, considering the perilous winter storm we hit on our way from Chicago.
The RV is en route to Pittsburgh, PA for a show at H-Kan Hookah Bar. Floyd is soliciting nouns and adjectives from the group in an effort to complete his new book of Mad Libs. Caroline is entering names from our emailing list and Don is reading the paper as I type away on my PowerBook.
Last time I wrote, we were somewhere between Lexington and Louisville. A while back, our gig in Cincinnati was bagged when the club owner lost his lease and declared bankruptcy. I was not upset by the cancellation. I’m sure Cincinnati is a great town, but we needed a day off. We played every night for a week, often playing two shows or two-hour sets. The day consisted of sleeping in, mailing CDs to record stores around the country, and a short band rehearsal held in the living room of our hotel suite (special thanks to the neighbors for not complaining). I am amazed my voice has survived scattered sleep schedules, poor dietary habits, and smoke-filled clubs.
The gig in Louisville was at Rudyard Kipling, named after the late writer. The staff was incredibly hospitable and supportive. Later, after playing an open stage set and selling some discs at Highland’s Tap Room, several resident musicians informed us Louisville is a cover-band-heavy town. I have a love/hate relationship with such scenes. All the guys in this band, including me, have done time playing other people’s music. It can be fun. Audiences love to hear their favorite songs played in a live setting. That being said, I also find it sad there is so much great music out there going undiscovered because people rather hear another rendition of “Sweet Home Alabama.” I love stories of friends and colleagues seeing John Mayer in a bar where five people were present, or seeing someone’s excitement after being turned-on to a new, up-and-coming artist. The night ended with certain band members taking pictures of Cox Smokers Outlet. Juvenile.
The dreaded moment of having to empty the septic tank arrived Thursday. We spent half-an-hour complaining and figuratively scratching our heads about the entire process. I’d love to go into detail about the endeavor, but my writing would not do it justice. Just visualize two guys in their mid-20s cussing, yelling and laughing in 10° weather while emptying what the motor home terms “Black Water.” I’m sure wherever your imagination takes you will not be far off the mark.
Upon arriving at the Super 8, all I wanted was a shower. We must have just missed a filming of “Cops: Indianapolis.” Our room looked like an on-the-fly serial killer had inhabited it. There was a blanket spread across the floor, hair clippings all over the carpet, a cup of used chewing tobacco and cigarettes, and de-sheeted beds. I decided the room would not be acceptable and left in order to avoid finding a body.
Our show at Birdy’s confirmed the aspect I love most about being on tour: people. The amount of generosity and respect we’ve received from fellow bands, club owners, and populace is heartwarming. After the show, I spoke to members of 20 Minutes to Park, Red Moon, and Wheelhouse about the Indy music scene (not to be confused with “indie”) and a local producer about his work in the industry. Seeing new places and hearing stories like theirs have enhanced my sense of reality; there are so many things happening outside of my backyard.
The next day we made the trek up to Madison, WI where we stayed at another sketchy Motel 6 where a family of five-strong was moving in. The show was at The Klinic Bar, the first club to frame one of my signed posters and hang it on the wall. It is also the first club I’ve played that features a stripper pole (strippers not included). It was a solid show and we were done by 10 PM, making it possible to meet up with some friends across town. The owner hooked us up with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbons for the road and sent us on our way.
The best meal of the entire tour came Saturday afternoon when we stopped by my friends, The Sutkiewicz’s. Faith and Jer-Bear hooked us up with some damn fine Bloody Marys and introduced us to traditional Wisconsin cuisine- beer-soaked Brats. Visiting their home was a welcomed break from hotels and restaurants. For the first time, I found myself homesick. Obviously, I had missed being with my girlfriend and an hour and ten minutes from my parents, but it is more than that. It is waking-up and going to sleep in the same bed for a week straight, or sitting down for a night of primetime television like House, M.D. or any three Law and Orders. Two mundane aspects of my life I’ve started to miss. There are only so many nights you can drink and run up and down hotel hallways until it becomes monotonous. There is a comfort to dining at the same cafes or meeting your friends at the same local pubs. Two older artists I admire expressed a similar sentiment when I asked for insight into the life of “rock stardom.” This sentiment ultimately led to the discontinuation of their touring careers. You can’t have everything at once. I am blessed to have loved ones who support me and encourage me to pursue this dream.
Chicago did a damn fine job of numbing these feelings. We have found a home at Joe’s Sports Bar. There were about 200 people in attendance including some of my old friends from Emerson College. Originally, we were going to perform two sets about 45 minutes in length. Instead we went for two hours straight. There was a bigger concert letting out in Joe’s back room and we didn’t want to miss the chance of winning over the other band’s fans. It was well worth the extra work.
After the show I stopped by my friend Nicole’s apartment for a late night hang. We rapped about the old times and the abovementioned homesickness. I returned to the Travelodge at 6:30 AM, tired and ready to wake up in five hours.
1/30/07 - Pearl Nite Club - Dayton, Ohio
1/31/07 - Pittsburgh Cafe - Oakland, Pennsylvania
2/1/07 - Bunny's - Fairmont, West Virginia
2/2/07 - The Prince Deli - Knoxville, Tennessee
PLACE: KNOXVILLE AIRPORT
DATE: 2/3/07
TIME: AN UNGODLY HOUR
Sunflower seeds are tasty, but in the end, not worth the labor to complete a chewing cycle. It’s a skill I never mastered. Often it results in remnants strewn about my sweatshirt, as is the case this present moment.
I am sitting in Knoxville Airport, awaiting a flight back to Connecticut where I will emcee a charity gala for St. Mary’s Hospital of Waterbury. It is six o’ clock in the morning and I have not had an adequate night of sleep since Wednesday (?). My mind is already starting to wander, as it tends to do every time I prepare to board an aircraft. I’ve made a habit of telling family and friends I love them in case I plummet to my death. I really hope I don’t go out in that standard Rock N’ Roll formula. An attack by a Carcharodon carcharias would be more in my fashion. (That’s a Great White, by the way. I’m OBSESSED with them. They are an apex predator.)
Thursday’s performance was extreme. I thought they knew how to party in Chicago, Boston, and New York... Then I arrived in West Virginia. Despite what you might think, you do not party harder than Fairmont, WV. I have never seen more blatant displays of public drunkenness. It was awesome. Not “awesome” in the Teenage Mutant Turtles/California surfer way, but in the literal sense: breathtaking and remarkable. Besides the run-of-the-mill party atmosphere present on most Thursday night shows, we were treated to a young man relieving himself on the club’s hardwood floor. It was, by no means, an accident. He positioned himself, etc., etc., etc. After all of the gear had been loaded back onto the RV and the staff had been thanked for their generosity, I had to step over two drunken clientele who were sprawled out across the front steps. Looking back, I really wish I had taken a picture. I was in a rush to get to sleep because the band had its share to drink in celebration of Donny’s birthday and we had to leave Fairmont at 10 AM (Public Service Announcement: we always have a sober driver).
A few hours ago, I played my first show in Tennessee at the Prince Deli & Sports Bar in Knoxville. I love 45-minute sets. You get up there, deliver a solid group of songs, and hopefully, leave people wanting more. It was an eclectic audience, influenced by the truck stop across the street. Opening act, Nolan Neal is an exceptional talent who supposedly has worked with several major labels. I believe it. His songs were damn catchy. I was flattered to have another club offer to hang an autographed poster on their “Wall of Fame,” and was able to mingle with audience members for a significant amount of time following the set. I met a man from Albany, NY, a commercial radio personality who offered to submit our CD to her station’s music director, and an Internet DJ by the name of Dirty D, who had me record a plug for his program on a cell phone.
Not much else going on. I’m exhausted and it is hard to distinguish whether there are two “L’s” or one in some of these words. I smoked an entire Cuban cigar and dined at a nearby Waffle House to keep myself entertained these past few hours. I’m excited to see my girlfriend and parents. Hopefully, this quick return will not knock me out of “tour mode.” Sorry to be so short. Tired. Cranky. My breath smells like Communism.
2/5/07 - Dan's Silver Leaf - Denton, TX
*WARNING: THIS BLOG IS RATHER MUNDANE. YOU MIGHT WANT TO SKIP IT SINCE IT DOES NOT INVOLVE SOMEONE URINATING ON THE FLOOR, PASSING OUT DRUNK, OR ANY FURTHER DESTRUCTION TO OUR RENTED MOTORHOME. HOWEVER, IT DOES DESCRIBE A DAY IN THE LIFE OF TRYING TO MAKE IT BACK TO YOUR TOUR FROM ACROSS THE COUNTRY. ANYWAY, YOU ARE ALL BIG BOYS AND GIRLS AND CAN MAKE YOUR OWN DECISIONS.*
I awake at 8 AM in my apartment in NYC. It is relatively impressive how efficiently I operate considering the last time I arose at an hour remotely close to 8 AM, was in August of 2006 (all nighters obviously do not count since R.E.M. is never reached).
The day is going to be slightly busy. Within the next 14 hours I will be: auditioning for a show at 10 AM in midtown, catching a flight out of La Guardia that leaves at noon, participating in a phone interview from O’Hare Airport in Chicago while switching planes, taking a plane to Dallas, and playing a show at Dan’s Silver Leaf in Denton, TX. I cannot complain about being bored.
The climate is frigid. It has to be negative degrees Fahrenheit. My un-gloved hands feel like they are about to develop gangrene as I emerge from the underground rail system the natives call, “subway” (I am really getting a kick out of writing as if narrating 1984). Seriously though, I debate bailing on the audition when I cannot find the studio within three minutes of walking.
I finally find it and the warmth is more painful than the cold. Have you ever had that feeling? The feeling where, as your hands warm up, you feel like you are birthing an alien life-from from each of your finger tips? It sucks; especially when your audition requires guitar playing.
Despite the aliens, the audition goes well. I fly down the stairs and into a cab. The ride to 33rd and 3rd takes an unbearable amount of time. I need to make the flight. If I do not, there are going to be 6 perturbed people in Denton. We stop at an office where my friend, Joe is temping. I borrowed the Ovation guitar in the trunk from a generous friend in CT because all of mine are en route to the Lone Star State. Joe is the middleman for returning the instrument. He meets me outside. We engage in 10 seconds of small talk. Joe realizes it is small talk. Joe knows of my time constraint. “Get going before you miss your flight,” he says. It is key when people are insightful.
We drive through the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. No traffic. Good. We get on the first highway (LI Expressway, I think). No traffic. Better. It’s 11 AM. I still have to go through security at the airport. There is no time to spare.
I-78. Traffic. Shit. This is not what I wanted. In fact, it is exactly what I did not want. 10 minutes pass, still in traffic. Then it opens up. Go, go, go.
The taxi pulls-up. The fare is $35. Wow. I sprint to the self-ticketing print out. Success. I might make boarding on time.
Then, tragedy: I have been selected for additional security screening. How could this have happened? The stars were all perfectly lined for me to make this flight. This day, to be a story I will write about in the Amplifier- Artist Driven Blog. The success, the glory, not the rubber gloves and the Jeff-less Chi-town bound flight.
In times like these, do not throw a fit or even act upset. What good would that do? I stand patiently as they check my bags for contraband and weapons. It is opportune U.S Airways arrive consistently late (in my experience).
The aircraft boards half-an-hour later. I settle in next to an uneasy young professional who is biting his nails without intermission. It’s a bit of a turn-off, but hey, I’m tired and shouldn’t be judging him. I also have some ticks that drive people nuts. I settle back in my chair and pass out for the entire flight.
I wake up. We are holding on the runway. I am becoming restless once again. They say we should only be holding for about 20 minutes.
45 minutes later, we are still waiting to taxi. This guy is STILL BITING HIS NAILS!
“What is left to bite pal?!?” I want to scream. He’s driving me nuts! He keeps looking at his hand like he’s missed something. You would think two hours of biting would be sufficient. I calm myself, realizing perhaps this is misplaced aggression toward the airline.
We finally get off the plane and I search for a quiet place to make a phone call to KHZ Radio in Los Angeles. Pretty difficult to find a suitable place considering there is an announcement about the raised security level every 45 seconds. I forget what it was that day; mauve perhaps.
There is a corridor marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” I self-impose this title upon myself and make a phone call to the Carolyn Fox Show, teetering on the employee line and trying to look as naïve as possible.
After the interview I rush to McDonald’s and then to the plane where I take my seat next to the most pleasant Welsh woman. She is a welcome replacement from the finger nibbler. She is visiting her daughter who she only sees once-a-year. Her son lives in England and is finishing his PhD in music psychology. I am fascinated and spend the entire flight conversing with her and listening to her delightful accent.
When we land, I grab a ride to Dan’s Silver Leaf (cool room) where we deliver a successful show opening for an improvisational songwriter. His shtick: Asking audience members to write suggestions for song topics and charging them a fee to have it played. At first, it seems like his set is going to be impressive- he makes up a song about a 16 year-Old Norwegian Virgin kissing her grandmother. The groove is pretty tight and his rhyme schemes work. However, as the night progresses he begins taking people’s money and ripping them off by simply repeating the song titles over-and-over again without putting any thought into verse content. I believe one was “Daddy and the Muscle Academy.”
The band and I move outside to talk with the drummer of the indie-band Centromatic. He has put his time in on the touring circuit and gives us his two-cents on what it takes to make it.
On our way back to the hotel I end up driving (sober) down a one-way street and having to pull a U-turn in a nearby parking lot. A bike patrol cop comes over and says, “You look a little lost.”
I explain our situation: how we are an out-of-town band trying to find the Motel 6. He gives us directions and wishes us well. In the back of the RV, the band is ragging on me, saying I was just begging for him to search the vehicle by mentioning we are in a band. Whatever.
We make it back to the motel and pass out for the night.
PREVIEW OF UPCOMING, MORE INTERESTING BLOGS:
AUSTIN, TX- Burlesque Shows, Mike Judge, and Breaking Down the Silence being added to a strip clubs playlist.
ALBUQUERQUE THROUGH WICHITA: street bums, hippies and gang-bangers, producer hunting, surfing in 58° water, playing a haunted Metal club (this is a great story)…
More to come real soon. Sorry for the delay.
2/6/07 - Momo's - Austin, Texas
2/8/07 - Oscar's - Abilene, Texas
We are en route to Albuquerque, NM, having just finished our late-night set at Antone’s.
This will be the first, and hopefully only occasion on which we sleep in the RV as it barrels through the night. It is going to take at least 12 hours to reach tomorrow’s gig.
Omer and Floyd are settling into their sleeping chambers following my serenade in the restroom. I will explain this situation since it probably seems rather peculiar:
We hang out in the restroom. The drums are all stacked in the bathtub. We pass the time there, chatting while some smoke (a ritual I discourage after using an extinguisher to put out a smoky fire in the septic tank). One person must sit atop the toilet, one in the sink. The other must cram against the door. I added a guitar to this mix when Omer informed me he had never heard the song “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas. (Sad, I know. Give the kid a break. He lived in Israel until he was 13.) He’s heard it now.
The last three days have been a blur of ridiculously good music, shots that require two gulps to consume, and a cast of characters you would only find in a David Lynch film.
After wandering around Sixth Street like an awestruck child in Disney World on Tuesday evening, I joined the group at Antone’s where we proceeded to get absolutely tossed in celebration of Jeremy’s birthday while taking in the sounds of Derek O’Brien and the Antone’s House Band (featuring members of the Fabulous Thunderbirds).
From there, we hit the Continental Club to catch Barfield- the Tyrant of Texas Funk. Between the club decor, the music, Barfield himself, and a woman dancing oddly provocatively on a speaker (come to find out she coordinates a burlesque show), I began to speculate someone had slipped a hit of acid into my Heineken. It was all mind-blowing: the innovative sound of the band, the vibe of the venue, the fact there was a packed room of people listening to live, original music on a Tuesday night…
One of us engaged the burlesque miss in conversation. (The kamikaze shots we took that night aren’t helping my recollection. Let’s say it was Donny since he is the available one in the band who won’t get in trouble if his girlfriend/wife reads this.) She invited us to an after hours get together at her house. Immediately, my mother popped up in a bubble outside of my head saying I probably shouldn’t journey into a stranger’s home for an after-party. I felt comfortable though having a posse of four drunken band mates at my side. Further down the rabbit hole…
I stepped into the alley behind The Continental where everyone debated who was taking what cab. I peaked around the corner and found two random, young ladies entering a taxi.
I ominously called, “Hey! Where’s the party?” knowing damn well the party was at the burlesque gal’s house.
One replied, hesitant at first, “I don’t know. Do you?”
Clearly no mother bubbles for them. I must have looked like the bad guy from a McGruff cartoon. You know, the stranger to whom you do not speak. The stranger from whom you immediately walk away: THE STRANGER WHO IS IN THE DARK ALLEY AT THREE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING.
It all worked out though. They paid for Floyd and I to join them in a cab and we went to the after party where I met Mike Judge, creator of Beavis and Butthead and King of the Hill. I spent the majority of the party jumping on a big trampoline outside.
Wow. In reviewing what I have written, I realize this was a series of poor choices.
I discussed a bit of business about band promotion with our hostess’ roommate (also a venture capitalist) after calling a cab at 4:30 AM. I’m not sure what I said. It probably wasn’t 100% productive considering I was “three sheets to the wind.”
As the band piled into a cab, he promised to attend our show at Momo’s the following day.
It took a bit of convincing to get the driver to take us all to the Days Inn. He was nervous because he was only supposed to be carrying four passengers at a time. I nicely explained this was the way it had to be and spent the entire ride trying to calm the edgy chauffer by asking him questions about his life.
Wednesday was errand day. We took “The Pig” for an oil change and Floyd to the doctor. He was suffering from a stiff neck, a pain radiating down his arm, and a developing bump on his head. Several members in our group worried it was something serious, perhaps a tumor. I assured them everything was fine. Being a hypochondriac, I have researched the symptoms of an exorbitant amount of afflictions one can acquire.
The pain and stiff neck turned out to be from a pinched nerve and his head, some sort of epidermal issue easy to resolve. The doctor prescribed Vicodin for the pain. As he handed Floyd the slip he stated, “Austin is a liberal town.” Shocker.
Momo’s was an early set. I really like the club’s layout: a stage in the back of the room, floor space and a few tables in front, and a deck where people can take in the night’s entertainment in an open-air setting. Our friend, Mike, from the night before was there as promised. He became our guide for the remainder of the evening.
We went to see a phenomenal guitarist by the name of Monty Montgomery at Saxon’s Pub before heading back to The Continental to check out David Garza (yet another impressive act).
Before returning to the hotel, our guide insisted we stop at a local gentlemen’s club. I am a bit bashful in these environments. Not sure why. Always have been.
The club’s manager was kind enough to let us in for free and give us drinks on the house since we were a rock band away from home. Mike persuaded the DJ to play a few songs off of my album. Watching young ladies perform topless pole dances to my music was a bizarre moment. I couldn’t help but smile a little, thinking how proud my childhood idols would be (Guns N’ Roses, Def Leppard, Motley Crue).
I passed on hanging out with some of the band and our Austin friends at the hotel. I felt a bit guilty, but was so exhausted from the previous night.
This is a potentially complicated aspect of being on the road: people often want to party with the band and show us around town. As mentioned in previous entries, I love meeting new people and hearing their stories. That being said, we do this almost every night. Occasionally, you need some time to yourself whether that means listening to your i-Pod, watching the tube, or catching up on much needed sleep.
Prior to arriving in Texas, I was oblivious to the renowned status of Antone’s. Artists like Stevie Ray Vaughan (personal favorite of Jeremy and I), B.B. King, Muddy Waters, and Buddy Guy among others played the venue at one or more of its locations. It was an honor just to be on a stage where such legends had performed. You could tell the staff was composed of individuals who are passionate about music. I am looking forward to returning there again and again.
Looking back, I remember several acquaintances praising the Austin music scene. I was always a bit reluctant to believe the hype. I do now. This city: the consistent quality of its music, its people, its scene, has left an impression on me; one I expect will keep me coming back over and over again.
2/9/07 - Ralli's Pub - Albuquerque, New Mexico
2/10/07 - The Real Bar - Tempe, Arizona
2/11/07 - The Hut - Tucson, Arizona
2/13/07 - Cat Club - Los Angeles, California
2/14/07 - 10 Beach Club - San Diego, California
2/15/07 - The Dive Bar - Las Vegas, Nevada
2/17/07 - Highland Pacific - Denver, Colorado
2/18/07 - JC's House of Rock - Wichita, Kansas
2/19/07- St. Louis, MS
To the best of my knowledge, I have never encountered the supernatural. I am relatively certain I have been to Dudleytown at night (an alleged haunted site in Cornwall, CT), but did not witness/sense anything out of the ordinary.
JC’s House of Rock is the second supposed haunted place I have visited, and the first I have played. (Perhaps I should arrange a Dudleytown Festival.) Though I have no proof the paranormal exists, I am intrigued by stories connected to various sites across the country. Therefore, I am going to give the history of the venue we played last night, as told by the owner, the woman working the ticket booth and some trusty online resources.
From approximately 1920 through 1930, JC’s House of Rock was a TB ward where people from greater Wichita would reside during their final weeks of consumption. After they had expired, their bodies were placed in the morgue downstairs. At some point, someone decided this would be a good place to open a nightclub…
In the summer of 2003, the club’s owner (then called Club Mexico), Arturo Garcia murdered three individuals; shooting them with a sawed-off shotgun. He enlisted the help of his drug-dealing henchmen to assist in dismembering the bodies. They used an axe, serrated, electric knives, and a chainsaw to get the job done before stashing the remains in a refrigerator in the basement.
Since being in the space, JC’s’ staff believe they have had several run-ins with spirits including: antique phone ringing sounds, lights being turned on and off when they are alone in the building, visual sightings in mirrors, and being grabbed/touched by a presence (with accompanying whispering: “wah wah, wah wah”).
A few months ago, the lead singer of some metal band went down into the cellar and started reading aloud from some Latin Book of the Dead. (Loser). Later that week, he went mad and left the tour telling the band they could have his RV. The club’s demons might have had something to do with his flip-out. Regardless, I can tell you this much: you don’t need a haunted establishment and the Latin Book of the Dead to go mad while traveling with your band in a motor home.
The last week has been good to us. We reached the Pacific coast and are on the homeward stretch. The majority of time is spent in the RV on long drives watching Floyd fingerboard, Omer read books written in Hebrew, Caroline view episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, Donny sleep, and Jeremy make this face he always makes.
We played a Bob Marley birthday celebration in Albuquerque. The bill included two smokin’ reggae acts from New Mexico: Crazyfool and Kev Lee. The club manager didn’t even know we were coming. Must’ve been some crossed signals between the 4th Street staff and our booking team. I made sure to tell him we had just traveled 12+ hours from Austin and needed to play. The music fans in New Mexico were welcoming and attentive. The only part of the day I did not enjoy were the sketch balls lurking around the corner of the club with ghetto blasters and crutches. My estimation is it was an act of valor to walk a quarter of a mile down an alley with our night’s earnings in my pocket.
I can confirm Tempe, AZ is a party town. After the show at The Real Bar, we got tossed with a bunch of college students at my friend, Abbey’s apartment complex. The next morning not even a Bloody Mary, a swim in my boxers, and my first In and Out Burger could cure the hangover. That being said, In And Out Burger is AMAZING.
Los Angeles saw us visiting some places I’ve heard of since I first got into Rock N’ Roll: The Whiskey A-Go-Go, Barney’s Beanery and more. I’ve been told one of Barney’s claims to fame is Jim Morrison peed on the bar. Imagine that. I’ll bet they were pissed-off (no pun intended) when he did that. Now it’s a celebrated reminiscence.
Thought: “Will I become an icon if I urinate in an establishment? Jim did it. So did Shannon Hoon of Blind Melon…on people!”
I loved San Diego when I visited last fall and I loved it again this time. I went surfing at Ocean Beach, despite the locals trying to discourage me from entering the 58-degree water. Hindsight being 20/20, it was relatively extreme, but I had to surf at least once while on tour and L.A.’s alleged syringe-filled waters were not enticing. If you’re ever in San Diego, go to Ocean Beach and get a burger and chocolate milk shake at Hodad’s. Unreal.
My first trip to Sin City wasn’t too immoral. I only spent $40 at the blackjack tables and finished up five bucks (ring-a-ding-ding). Had I heard someone say, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” one more time, I would’ve popped ‘em right in the grill. Just kidding. Most of the individuals who said it were probably packing heat.
I should have some great stories from the next time we’re there. Sorry to disappoint, but consider: wouldn’t you rather hear about past un-cliché, crazy nights in Fairmont, WV than Las Vegas? Everyone goes ape-shit in Vegas.
Denver, CO goes down as one of my top -five favorite shows on the tour: phenomenal response from the crowd, good CD and t-shirt sales, and delicious, free food.
Speaking of shows, maybe I should tell you a little about the music and less about my trite experiences. We’re here for the music, right? Right.
We are finding the songs and show appeal to a broad range of listeners. Originally, I thought the college and high school crowds would be our target audience. This does seem to be the case, however we are finding just as much success with young professionals (just out of college), middle-aged adults (probably went to college), and even the jam band scene (probably dropped out of college… to follow Phish.)
This poses a bit of a dilemma: How do you market your music to such a wide group of people? It is an artist’s dream to reach a broad range of listeners. It is also a business man’s nightmare because each group must be approached differently if you are to get their attention. I’d love to say, “Just let the music do the talking,” but with all the music out there (thousands of myspaces, thousands of people learning to use Garageband, thousands of people playing guitar) you need to give people a reason to take a minute to LISTEN.
I want to go back a few sentences where I commented about the jam band scene dropping out of college and following Phish. Say what you want about jam fans and their stereotypes: following Phish, making a living selling grilled cheese in parking lots… They are the most consistent, true followers of music. I have found the jam scene to be full of the most welcoming, open-minded listeners. In many circles, it’s all about being the “it” band. Being new, sleeping with someone popular, having a song on the newest regeneration of Dawson’s 90210 County. All the jam band people care about is- can you play? I LOVE THAT. I suppose this is why festivals like Bonnaroo are enjoying such success with acts diverse as Widespread Panic, Tool, and The Police. It’s all great music. Whether you like the bands personally or not, they are all great at what they do.
In the end, that’s what really matters.
2/20/07 - The Way Out Club - St. Louis, Missouri
2/21/07 - Ruby Tuesday - Columbus, Ohio
2/22/07 - The Brewery - State College, Pennsylvania
2/23/07 - Rex's Bar - West Chester, PA
2/24/07 - Arlene Grocery - New York, New York
New York, NY
I’m home. In fact, I’ve been home for a while. Sorry to keep curious parties waiting. I’ve been adjusting to “getting back to normal.”
To be honest, I also needed a break from myself. Don’t get me wrong- I love my job. However, all matters do have their downsides:
As an artist, I never put my work away. It’s not a nine-to-five gig where you go home at the end of the night, turn on Gray’s Anatomy, and start work at the desk the next day. I relentlessly try to write another song, book another venue, and discover new outlets for the music; sometimes at three in the morning. I suppose you could call it an obsession. Making a mark in this industry takes drive, so it’s hard to know when to let go and take some time for yourself.
Since being home I’ve been able to hit the New York Sports Club regularly (usually around 11:30 PM every weeknight), check out some of my favorite jazz musicians in Greenwich Village, and see a Broadway show here and there.
Finding a suitable gym on the road was a challenge. Most of the hotels either did not have a weight room or only had one cardio machine from 1987-1994 (Nordic Track and that other creepy, offensive-looking stride machine endorsed by the guy with the spandex, baseball cap and ridiculously long pony tail.)
My dietary habits are gradually improving as well. Eating healthy is rarely an option on the road since you usually need to eat swiftly at outlandish hours. This predicament generally yields fried foods, chocolate milk and Krispy Kremes.
I do miss being on the road. I miss the band. I miss playing every night to new listeners. It is odd how easily I adjusted to that lifestyle.
Our final show in NYC was bitching: packed house (100+ to give you an idea), old friends and fans, new fans, and a great club: Arlene’s Grocery.
At first it seemed like the night would be a disaster:
First, the preceding band featured a “singer” who wore a bicycle wheel around his neck and sang about “rubbing his pussy through his jeans” (Luckily, my 85-year-old grandmother arrived after his set). I really feel bad for the guy. He is screwed. Every time he plays he’s going to have to lock that wheel around his neck. If he does not, people will be disappointed. That having been said, I honestly considered searching the East Village streets for an entire bicycle to wear out for the opening song.
Second, someone stole Omer’s Line 6 and sustain pedals, as well as his Nord Electro (that’s a keyboard) cables. The AC Adapter for my pedal board was also lifted from the closet-sized waiting area. I was pretty hurt by this. All of us bands should help each other out, not steal each other’s shit. Luckily that sentiment was shared by the last band on the bill. They allowed Omer to use their Roland keyboard and Floyd loaned me his adapter.
After a rushed “sound check” we hit it. From then on, it was gravy. I infrequently take the time to pause and celebrate my accomplishments. This was not the case following our performance in Manhattan. The most eye-opening facet of the night was the presence of new fans that knew the words to the songs. New fans that heard we were playing and decided to join us at Arlene’s Grocery. It sounds so basic, but that is a huge moment for a budding band. When I was a senior in high school and freshman in college, our friends were the only people who would come check us out. It was a gravitational moment to know the music itself enticed people to share an evening with the guys and me. Hopefully this will be the case in many more cities as I continue this career.
Thank you for taking the time to read all of these entries. Further questions are welcome by email: info@jefftuohy.com.
Thanks to Amplifier Magazine for the opportunity to share my story with all of you.
Hope to see you on the road…
Sincerely,
Jeff Tuohy
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http://www.the jefftuohy.com
