3.19 Monday

One man drives, the other man screams. We Are From Here.

3.18 Sunday

Been in the van all day, we’re still in fucking Texas trying desperately to leave, LET US OUT OF HERE! WE AIN’T FROM HERE! WE AIN’T! Very sick, infected friends, afraid to breathe. Necropolis’s headlights shorted, it’s almost midnight, we’re at a fucking Waffle House in Arkansas, we’ve taken on Adam Smith so he can get home for work, so stretching out is out of the question. Trucking with bad backs, legs, throats, legs, lungs, minds.

3.17 Snake Day Saturday

Lost my money last night, maybe about $200. Took a 1/2 hour to put my contacts in, shaking so bad, cat hair and fuzz everywhere. No amount of showering will clean this shame off of me. I must have fallen or something, I’m all cut up. At least I still have this book and my passport and wallet and wristband. Fucking hell. Bad day. We play tonight. The bar, the stage is gigantic, like 8 ft. off the ground. Good lord. At BBQ place called… Iron Horse or some shit, its G.W. Bush’s favorite BBQ place, so they must cook infant children here, right? I ate BBQ beef (supposed to eat beef today, right?) on top of a baked potato, it was the closest thing to vegetarian they had, made me a little shitty, like I got kicked in the gut by steel tipped cowboy boots “only pansies don’t eat meat, you hear that McGinkle? You need that flesh like you need sweet whiskey in the morning!” Bad day. Back at Casino’s again (told you) with Tony Dave Sarah Scott Blackout Booking. My neck is fucking destroyed from headbanging at Teeth with Bim last night. I got beyond drunk and am now having a bit of the hair of the Irish Setter that mauled me last night. Good God 75% of my soul wants to just go home and cuddle my woman. Also the friends got beat last night, at that party I think, powdered sugar, can you believe that?
Saw Lee “Scratch” Perry today at the Convention Center while they filmed some thing for DirecTV. Fucking disheartening white soulless session band + Scratch + some other old-soul reggaeman. The band played too fast, too clean, couldn’t dance but tried; it really sucked except for the vocals/Scratch scat and percussion (maracas/wood blocks/reverb plates/echoplex). It was like when I saw the Zombies last year, seriously, break that fuckin 60-year-old drummer out of his domestic prison, it won’t hurt him, don’t bring some little session boy.
Standing in line for this fucking party Ahmed told us to go to, we dropped his name, but I seriously can’t stand to wait any longer. We’ve left Sarah behind. We went to Casino’s for more beer. Sarah’s watching Vietnam and Redman, missed that Damon Albarn band and only had to wait two more minutes after we left. Saw other Columbuloids later and they said they just dropped Ahmed’s name and walked in. Why the fuck aren’t I patient? Whatever. Sarah said the dude in front of her was dressed up for Green Beer Day with a big obnoxious pint’o’Guinness hat bobbing up and down in front of her, getting in the way of her view, and she punched it off his head and called him a dumb-dick-bitch and left. Sorry I missed that, really, more than Redman.The show’s in a little bit, and I’m about to puke, I’m really fucking nervous, never have been before like this, we’re going to get sandwiches and milkshakes, try to act straight and see if my body takes the hint. The stage is obnoxious, the bar is like the fuckin Red Zone or Long Street Live or something, all neon and slimy stainless steel, gross couches and shiny shirted fuckfaces dick tasting downstairs. We’re on the patio upstairs, on the roof, really, directly underneath the Owl Building in Austin, the one that’s supposedly a huge Masonic Satanic Idol. Necropolis murders it, girls dance, bloggers take pictures, soundmen freak, Bo pukes off the roof as soon as he’s done because of the weird shit-blowing heating vents in the stage. Before them Night of Pleasure crankensteined a ton of screech punk out into the heavens of Austin, like wailing gypsy children distracting you while your wallet gets stolen. We play tighter than we ever have before. We sell every song, my new hi-hat stand loosens up mid song, but I fix it discretely without missing a beat, the vent thing keeps us warm in the now freezing breeze on the roof, but it stinks. I still have to puke and somehow manage not to, but I should have anyway, on the fucking sound guy’s haircut. I see flashes popping maybe, maybe fireworks, I can see the parking lot and the street, I see tiny heads pointed up at us, bobbing, maybe shouting expletives. We end with L.G.N.O., my new favorite, and I get so into it, I’m afraid I looked like coke-mouth, or ‘that-guy,’ but fuck it and I just mash away until my heart feels like it’s going to melt and the song ends and I can’t hold myself up and slump down for a minute and it finally feels good and my hangover is over. Blogmen rave about Dave’s guitaring, Jon’s antics. Grafton plays, they make the normals dance and the bartenders compliment them but don’t give up free booze. Grafton, us, Necropolis, Night of Pleasure, Teeth, TNV, shit, even the Terribly Empty Pockets, we’re all so fucking loud, crushingly loud bands, concussive. We make haste and get the fuck out of that bar by like 12:30, and go straight to some Yokohama or something party, see Vietnam and a couple of other psychers TURZ? Or something. Great party, seriously. Dusty boots and canned beer and nice people, real people, like a Richard Linklater movie or something. I fell in love with Austin as we walked around the neighborhood trying to find a corner store. We got back to the party and they don’t let us in, it’s capacity. Fuck Austin, man. I had to pee so fucking bad that I went into the van and filled up a Gatorade bottle – reduce, reuse, right? – I’m so afraid to piss in the bushes b/c Adam Smith got a pissing ticket in Tulsa, and SXSW has to be like Mardi Gras, do what thou wilt but not to piss in public is the whole of the law, yeah? We do drugs on the street in front of the party line, and Martin from Ovrcast shares, and we run into 2/3 of Lions of Tsavo, and they share, and this tie-dyed kid offers to share more if we give him a ride and Sarah was like “man we got people just fallin’ out the windows, like too many people and all kinds of shit in the van, sorry braugh.” Martin called around, we’re about to go to the Vice party, but he says a balcony collapsed so it’s a nay on that one. So maybe there is some sorts of bridge party… ah fuck it, we just went back to Walker’s. We talked about an impending death, if it’s worse to know about it before it happens, or finding out after it’s over. We sat on Walker’s balcony and said goodbye to the rest of the Jameson and the view. It’s 3:59 a.m. and I forgot to tell you, Austin, Happy Saint Patrick’s day.

3.16 Friday

Having migas (perfect hangover sure, btw) at this chain place that Walker loves, and soon we will make our way to the “indie rock Put-in-Bay,” as Sarah has dubbed it. This festival is a big m’f’n to-do, and we have to jump through many hoops and sign things to get our little badge. We met Teeth and others at Casino El Camino’s (a bar I’m suspecting we will spend lots of time at), and after a lengthy detox morning I’ve begun again. I’m trying, very, very hard I’m trying, not to write this: got up, ate, drank, yelled, drank x 3. We decided to sleep in, eat slow, and most likely thusly have missed the fun free shit parties. We have our obnoxious badge – everybody’s dangling these stupid lanyards everywhere, but bands only get one per group and Tony just puts the fucking thing in his pocket. So it’s like the fuckin press + industry fucks get scooted up to the front of the one-in-one-out capacity shows and free-shit-magazine parties and panels, etc because they each have a badge with their silly name on it and holograms and shit that makes it look official. Shouldn’t we just have carte blanche to go ape shit everywhere?
Wear those jeans as tight as they can go, indie rock Put-in-Baysters, don’t hold back until you can’t bend your knees and your balls are cleft triply. We are here, and Comfest is nothing if not free. This is indie heaven, and if I were 17, I would be freaking the fuck out. As it is, I’m 27 and well over hard drugs and crappy booze. I will have fun, but in an insular way, tied to my friends, our secrets, our little catch phrases we’ve invented to keep us from killing each other, trying to keep Dave out of fist fights, to keep Jon out of embarrassing over-revelatory conversations and keep myself out of an Irish binge. Girls are done to the action-star wars-nines. We ran into a few of the Terribly Empty Pockets and told them about our plan to meet in the middle of the street later with the rest of Columbus and look at all of them – the star wars girls I mean. This has been a pretty uneventful event so far, though I don’t want to jinx anything and end up broken down in Greenville or Joplin or some backwater where we’ll all be forced to seek work, rent a place, find new lives, forget the rest up till that point, new history, old news.
So far we’ve enjoyed (witnessed?) two bands, three bars and not much else. We need to get to work. The sun goes down on Friday in Austin. Whoever has the most expensive sunglasses has to walk back to the car and put everyone else’s away for the night, grab sweatshirts and jackets. I won (lost?). I noticed that Dark Fog was playing the beginning of Teeth’s showcase at the Lava Lounge, so I get the crew to wander over there after some street standing… and I’m disappointed. Such promise on that one song I’ve heard on the online, and man… wow, just bad. Sorry Dark Fog, we’re leaving. (Text illegible) We’re at Scott’s Beerland showcase, some amazing two-piece basement blues band scorching electric Asian dudes… Anthony has pocketed our catchphrases and ran with them, I laughed so hard I shot out my earplugs (Text illegible) At TNV, all they need now is Calvin Johnson. I have Bim Thomas now, we talk whiskey, he introduces me to producers, promoters, label-men, comedians, I’ve gone blind and I smoked something with someone I recognized. B.J. bought a new shirt because all of his clothes are black, even his underwear (Text illegible) Teeth of the Hydra cut one head - there’s nine - cut one head three times to kill it when it’s dead it falls - from dead head come 32 teeth from each tooth one skeleton soldier how many soldiers? (Text illegible) do what comes natural. 416 Congress @ Spirit Bar we are here with Yalan @ the party somebody show up some weed Yalan does a shot with me as Peaches gets pitched out of the bar like a cartoon drunk bounced out of the saloon on her ass. I need to get away I think I fell, the owner begs Peaches to come back. Need to get to Emo’s Walkmen. (Text illegible)

3.15 Thursday

Obviously got so drunk last night that I lost, and still have yet to find, my mind. I have everything else, I think. We spent the night at the bar – no shit – I think dude was so fucked up he didn’t want to deal with kicking us out or putting us up in his apartment. I slept on the pool table (no back pain, yet) then power puked after jumping off the slate and sprinting to the bathroom (surprisingly clean and # 2 friendly) in my socks and tighties. Last night was a fucking riot. Jon decided he’d climb a drainpipe to get on the roof. Jon’s hand is still sort of broken from before. He gets to the top and taunts us “just try to climb that shit!” Anthony finds a stairway in the alley that leads to the roof. We all go up. Grafton brought small explosives. I think we played a show or something to a ton of booze, bottles, cases, more bottles, joints, more cases… and five locals including the soundman and the bar owner/tender. Two girls there were promptly macked out and left. A Columbus sleepover slumber party of debauchery ensued. Firecrackers inside and Anthony and I played 1 vs. 1 mushed beer can soccer. He won. We had a fucking drum circle. Can you believe that? Like everybody got a drum piece and played it, even the drummers. We cannibalized Jason Kiernan’s set and just went pounding away, people grabbed the tambourines from Mat Bizzzopolis’s kit and Poster plugged in his SG and played sludge blues real quiet. It was like Harvester reborn or some crazy Faust fuckery. We ain’t from here, We ain’t.
“There’s a few ways to wear out a welcome, McGillicarthy, and you thought of ‘em all.” Last time we were in Austin, Matt Walker put us up and we were polite, we fixed the toilet a few times each for him, Tony cleaned up while the rest of us were running around. We lit matches after we stunk up the bathroom and the only thing bad that happened was the show, and when Tony spilled red wine on Inez’s shirt and the carpet. She said it was o.k. Last time, by the time we got to Seattle there had been two deaths only one or two degrees away from us. B called from Columbus, there’s already been one, suicide, almost the same thing she told us about when we’d reached Seattle last time, she didn’t know any details. Walker’s place is getting sold out as condos, so they only have a month left on the lease and the pool is closed for renovation. He lives in the Hilliard of Austin in a complex with a five-tiered pool. It’s clean and has a balcony and a view, and a giant pool. We have to drive twenty minutes minus traffic to get to the shit, but it’s free and clean… with a giant pool.“We’re in the shit, now, McGantrinson, it ain’t worth it to lose your own.” It must be metal night down on 6th st., because it’s all I hear, a mess of paper bass drums and cheap DOD distortion pedals. I ate some really doughy pizza and feel slightly better. Austin has nothing on Columbus as far as the pizza by the slice goes. Walker fed us weed and vodka as soon as we opened the door, so I nearly puked up the rest of Tulsa onto his carpet; I got it together before we came down to the shit. Jeans here are tighter as the bodies in them are younger. Girls have conviction in their spangles and decorations, maybe most have had the day to get used to them and stop moving them around, re-hanging. Weird bikes with dirty smelly squatter hippies on them roll past. Messenger bags and badges, so many fucking badges and wristbands and people with stickers on their backs and asses that they don’t know about, street team litter is all over the place, everywhere. We’ve, right at the last second for tonight, got our wristbands, but haven’t gone further than to hang out in the middle of 6th and go to walk up food windows. Jon ate a burrito that was “about as good as a slap in the face.” Now we’re at Deerhunter (many chorus/echo/flange pedals, though can’t even see them, digital echo, baby lead singer keeps yelling at the sound guy “too much treble” or “what’s that hum?” I think he has Marfan’s, and I don’t really care but at least they have Pacifico at the bar for $5) at the Soho Lounge where somebody else played or will play today or something. Festivals like these, like More Than Music, where there’s so many kids around, so many people to stare at and stare at you that it’s overload and you just have to cordon yourself off and stick to your own people otherwise your head will explode or the thought police will arrest you for eye-rape. The next band is another I’ve heard of: Do Make Say Think, and I don’t care. Went to Emo’s for the Pony’s, not sure if I care, but Emo’s has Session Lager, which is in tiny bottles like Red Stripe and is entirely, wholesomely delicious. Pony’s sound good, but what sounds better is Matt from Psychedelic Horseshit screaming to girls “who’s ready to fuck?” out on the patio because he’s too drunk to talk or not sit Indian style in the dirt. We ran into Ahmed of Sweetheart who’s working for the Fader or some magazine and he tells us to go to some party tomorrow, drop his name, it’s cool. None of these bars are cool, really, so we stand in the street, meet up with Teeth of the Hydra and other Columbuloids and own the street. Seriously, Columbus, TX. Tony bought a Kinky Freedman doll - spouts catchphrases almost as well as he does. (Rest of text illegible)

3.14 Wednesday

Can we find the cultural zeitgeist on a highway? Approaching the St. Louis arch in the dark, only Jon and I are awake and I know that no one else will care, but it looks much better at night than it does in the sun. We are the Mysterious Stranger in Tulsa and we have hours to spend here. Sarah had the resourceful idea to visit the main library. It’s an invaluable resource, she said. We used the resources, and people more homeless than us did at the same time. I am sick, sinus infection or something, and smoking is not helping, thus goes the life of an addict. We’ve seen the hottest girl in Tulsa, and she’s wearing bellbottoms. The Necropolis caravan should be hot on our tail, though they are five hours behind – come on, who wouldn’t just drive straight through? Lord, the smart kids who don’t want to be all strung out for their show the next night, that’s who. We didn’t book this little jaunt properly, mainly because we were too busy working and schooling to scramble dates on the way in or out fast enough. If only shows in Memphis or Louisville or Nashville, fuck, Cincinnati would’ve fallen into our laps like the show in Tulsa did, we’d have more money to spend on booze and gas. Whatevs.
We found a very decent coffee shop with a very decently weird barista, we’re wondering now if anybody is even gonna show up at this club tonight. It’s a fuckin ghost town out here. The same guy who fucked up last tour and booked us in a cyclist bar with no p.a. when there was an insane all ages house show – a pass the hat type of show – booked this show. I guess Tony tried booking with the house-show kids, but they tried about as hard to get back to us as we tried to get other shows. So now we drink at the Sound Pony, a bar cobbled together from old cycle parts, water bottle holders screwed to the patio fence to hold pint glasses, rims quartered and welded into table legs, old droopy handlebars for foot rests, crappy decrepit frames and cracky leather saddles nailed up as garnish. We consider a visit to the fertility clinic for some easy cash, and it’s also the only place we want to stop. We went to the record store and sold some merch, looked at the overpriced Eno record in Tulsa. Dude told us to drive down this one street, park, walk around, go in cool shops. I’ll tell you, the cool little shops are losing the battle. We didn’t even stop, kept on. Made us depressed, so we came back to the beer at the club. It was like Morse rd. in Columbus or the whole of Canton, OH.
The club is pretty cool; I guess Blueprint’s playing here next month. It’s a big ass empty room, Emo’s size, but dingier and punk rockier… with more construction dust. I guess they bought out a Chinese restaurant’s old booths and light fixtures and garnish to furnish it. At least they have a real p.a. this time. The house-show kids, last time, I overheard they had a Friday night indoor soccer team, they were short one guy for the roster, so I got drafted and scored two goals for them. Dudes drank right before the whistle, as did everybody else, all the trashcans were 1/2 filled with puke. The whole place fuckin reeked, like an airplane hangar filled with airplanes constructed entirely of bile, Tulsa is like this. Anyway, we’ll play here in a couple of hours. Necropolis just showed up with Anthony-v-lope. (Rest of text illegible)

Day Three and Four - Giving into the Fringe

I survived, but bruised and without money, comfort, my luggage, and a computer.

Here's a two-day recap:

Friday:

Greg Ashley
Clockcleaner (jawbreaker hate rock)
Deerhunter
Big Business
Wooden Shjips (into the great unknown)
Rock Plaza Central
You Am I
Blues Control (hypnotic thrift jam)
Marit Larsen
Times New Viking (um, david cross was there)
Teeth of the Hydra (best metal band of the fest)
Yo Majesty (do I have to tell you again)
Entrance
Psychic Paramount

Saturday:

The Cubical
The Carbonas
Deerhunter
Flying Fatal Guillotines
Vietnam
Young Knives
Ghostface Killah
Rakim
Redman (I was in tenth grade all over)
Terribly Empty Pockets (atop a roof of neon)
Rusted Shut (now I know why Sword Heaven swears by this band)
Los Llamarada (Mexico's TNV)
Psychedelic Horseshit
Midlake
Junior Senior

Add late-night Korean Karaoke in the absolute middle of nowhere and you have yourself a punishing week. Do I love music this much to take five years off my life in five days? Answer: of fucking course.

Day Two - Columbus has Entered the Building

Laundry List:

Marit Larsen (Gillian Welch meets Norwegian glisten)
Dark Meat(12? piece marching band, drum circles)
Gruff Rhys
Pelican
Boris(Godzilla wouldn't stand a chance)
Oxford Collapse
Oakley Hall
Peter and the Pirates(I swear this is Tap Tap)
The Walkmen
Diplo
Sloan
Besnard Lakes(My new salvation)
Dirty Projectors
Psychedelic Horseshit(act like you know)
Deerhunter(Ahem...hype deserved)
The Ponys
Voxtrot

Wednesday - Cloudy with a Chance of Whooping Cough

The Laundry List:
Arthur Yori
Bloodcat Love
Prarie Cartel
Sybris
Tom Brosseau
The Twilight Sad
Winterkids
Kenna
Yo Majesty (Diplo and MIA had triplets in Tampa)
Donovan (Happiness still runs through his veins)
Maps and Atlases
CPC Gangbangs (Arcade Fire + the Hives?)
About
Jack
Hank IV
Mint Chicks
Black Moth Super Rainbow (Dueling Moogs on chemistry class filmstrips, trippy as all get out)

The Horseshit play tonight with Deerhunter, whom it's said they called out at a recent show in Atlanta. Let's hope for no knife fights.

Tuesday, till now

It is 10:00am. I just rolled in to the hotel room from last night. We had a record release at Mother Egans with some really good friends and alot of beer. Too many friends to mention them all at this point. The days run together. Spent most of wed. at the Denton, Tx party to see hogpig (who I missed), the drams (who I missed, but we played with later), and Midlake who are going to blow up beyond belief in the next year. Drank tequilla out of the back of an SUV. We are backing Tim easton at the New West Day party in a few hours and then we have a two cow show at another day party so it will be a long day. Glossary were amazing last night. I'm gonna sleep for an hour.

Greetings.

So here I am, posting, after some minor technical glitches (all on my part // ie: i added an extra space at the end of my email address aka im dumb)...

Here goes, dawgs.

Right now I am in a luxury condo downtown, mere block away from shacks (in the words of double dagger 'luxury condos for the poor') as 4/6 of Sea Wolf is videotaping a couple 'o songs acoustically for some site. It is just a little bizare, like much of this experience has been, but free food is fucking free food.

The trip out here was fucking exhausting, although I did nothing.
The drive from LA to Austin is fucking beautiful but its long long long long.

As soon as we got into town this morning we went and did a session for daytrotter which was a fucking blast (the fucking full page add for eno's another green world in the control room was the personal highlight of the day thus far) and should be up at their site before too long.

Instead of rambling more I'll just post some pictures from this far into my voyage, as I have zero perspective yet and don't think this is the place for a personal diary (per se).

So yeah.

In Austin

We just got into Austin. We left columbus, after picking up Ben Hamilton from Little Brothers, sunday afternoon, just to take things easy. Sunday night, motel 6 in dickson TN, Dustins birthday, got drunk. Monday night, greenville TX, motel 6, got drunk. We have a show tonight at beerland w/ Grand Champeen and we also have an interview in 10 minutes so this is short. more later.

What's In Store?

So, let's see... over the next week-and-a-half or so, we should be hearing from Kevin Elliott (pro writer), Matt Bailey from Teeth of the Hydra, Justin Riley and The Terribly Empty Pockets, CDR folk, Lou Poster of Grafton, Mikey O. of El Jesus de Magico, Shane from Two Cow Garage, Dusty from Sea Wolf, Jim from Night of Pleasure, also, Psychedelic Horseshit and Times New Viking through Kevin Elliott (pro writer) and our favorite Austinite cum Columbite, Eric Focker. Plus more?? STAY TUNER!!!!!

And the Horse is the First One to Leave

I'll get started now, since in my head, spring has sprung, and I'm hours away from a plane ride to Austin and SXSW. Check here everyday for updates, and hopefully play-by-play recollections of adventures from your beloved Columbus personalities. So the first to leave is the first to receive and Psychedelic Horseshit win by a hair. Since I'm unsure if Matt Whitehurst knows what a computer is, I'll speak for them. They've been on the road for over a week with Pink Reason, another dimensionally different but equally bizarre band from Green Bay, before rolling into Texas. Both PHS and PR will be playing an incredible little showcase Thursday night at the Soho Lounge. Other acts include Deerhunter, the Urinals, Do Say Make Think, and Citay. I'm finding it hard to steer people towards new PSH music (I highly anticipate hearing their Siltbreeze album in the works, almost finished?), so read this goofy, fucking, interview with them.

Must See Shows

Must See Shows

Saturday, March 17th @ The Light Bar
408 Congress Ave., Austin, TX, Starts @ 8PM

All These Jerks Will Be There:

El Jesus de Magico
Night of Pleasure
Necropolis
Grafton
Terribly Empty Pockets
Finn's Motel(Scat Records)

The order of operations for the night has yet to be formulated, but rest assured that we'll let you know as soon as we know.

A wristband will get you into this show. So will $5.

El Jesus de Magico, Night of Pleasure, and Necropolis will all have shiny new 7" singles available @ SXSW.

Also appearing at the fest will be CDR alums Psychedelic Horseshit and Times New Viking.

Psychedelic Horseshit will be appearing March 15 at Soho Lounge w/ Pink Reason, The Urinals, and Deerhunter.

Times New Viking will be at the Time Out New York showcase, which will be at Exodus on March 16, and will also feature Peaches, Nellie Mckay, and Clockclean er. Should be weird.

Must See Bands

Don't sleep on...

Teeth of the Hydra

03.15.07
at Snake Eyes Vinyl:
w/ Citay, Assemble Head in Sunburst Sound and Titan

03.16.07
Teepee Records and Hearbreak Beat Records Showcase at Lava Lounge:
w/ Entrance, Earthless, Vincent Black Shadows, Red Beards and The New Flesh

TotH's Matt Bailey will be contributing to SXSW via The NDA, so check back to see what he has to say.

SXSW via The NDA!

Our motley crew, if you will, is all set to descend upon Austin, Texas, for the annual SXSW festival.

If you can't go yourself, then click RIGHT HERE (and bookmark it) as we'll have frontline accounts all week on the bands, the food, the beer, the sightings, the secrets, the parties, the free stuff, the orgies, all the shit you really want to know about.

As for our endearing team of skuzzzz-buckets, the well-informed artisans who will bring you the knowledge: you’ll hear from genuine journalists, strung-out musicians, the self-anointed cultural elite, die-hard fans, sketchy street dwellers and one particularly handsome local.

This should be cool.