Awaking

For soothe we slept and awoke like scattered buttons, our pants still wet with the night's rain. The skies had cleared and we made mountains of coffee, kissed our philly lass last goodbyes and got on the road  shortly after noon that day. Only to discover that our second show of the tour, in Baltimore, had also fallen through.
I think we were booked in Baltimore more than any other city, one spot had actually gone out of business a month before an sent me an apology email. Now, en route, a series of half communiques, unreturned calls and emails, and then Abi is suddenly on the horn with someone at the Copycat, but he's getting on a bus heading to Richmond in an hour, fuddle. But we are going this way too, tomorrow morning sir, if you stay Minivan Morrison would happily take you. Agreed. And this was too prearranged to not feel like a miracle.
We arrived on a bridge outside the enormous warehouse that would be our home for the night. Feels like Brooklyn. What warm people, a collective, they are fragile and open, I'm shut up like a clam but can still shudder out a smile. And the space is a dream. We arrange the furniture to face the corner where we'll play. Leisurely we soundcheck and watch the sun sink from their tall windows. Everyone is making phone calls now and another band is booked and a time is set and aren't you hungry let's find food. We crawl out and around the city.
When the people start streaming in and the music starts there is magic in the air, the first band fantastic and poetic and Barry will be doing a set of Trust Fall's songs before we go on. Then, a cry, a bang, and a scutter (just like in the movies) and something has happened. A purse, someone was trying to steal a purse - who's is this? And it's Abi's and her wallet is gone and three take flight out the door to pursue.
Her wallet is found discarded in the stairwell, and in a small victory only the cash has been taken. She, like a knight, steps to the stage and backs Barry as he begins to howl, stepping in front of the mic into the milieu of human, flesh on flesh, acoustic hammer.
Three songs in the landlord calls. He's found out that there's a party and that admission is being charged, the police have been called, he's coming. The show better end immediately or you will be fined, you will cough blood money to me. I have not an ounce of bend in me for landlords. We are courteous and wait while our patrons sort the situation, no one leaves, but it's awkward, the music's gone. My blood begins boiling at this point, such a serendipitous perfect show has just been nixed, and for what reason? We tremble and talk and tremor and turn left and back and left again and in a series of minutes we find our hosts and get the word. The word is fuck it, let's play.
Baltimore oh Baltimore. Seraphim of anger and the disgruntled block of diamond. We played hungrily in your mouth with the resolution to be beautiful forever. You were our first breath, the bleating release of the lamb from its slaughterhouse, a sign for what will happen. We played dark sharp and angry that night, Fernelly and Or like writhing geometric shapes in rhythm. Barry was the trunk of an animal, Abi was glass, I was I but with thorns coming out of me.
We slept that night in the big hands of couches that cradled us like drunken babies.  


     

Leaving

Day won, this past is windswept. We piled high into minivan morrison and left for Philly and the unguessable night that would ensue. Our first show was booked at a house party, somewhere, the details were fuzzy and our previous two bookings had fallen through, so down we went into the stew, our first show a mystery and vague knowledge of a place to stay. The afternoon was beautiful, Or had shaved half of his head, we didn't have insurance on the rental and no one in the van was technically allowed to drive it; but the afternoon was beautiful.
For me this was walking into an idea, we didn't have money, stability or any kind of notoriety, and at this point half the band didn't even know each other... ok, maybe the whole band. But it seemed like a good idea and now it was happening so we get out of Minivan Morrison and we're at our digs for the night and they're getting details on the show and will be the first angels we meet on the road. And our angels direct us a bit outside of the city to what they describe as a frat house that the fraternity owns only to party in. Though that would be a fairly massacre themed party, and it was.
We first met the squatter, who was our guide through the mayhem. He'd been staying there for several months and gave Fernelly a detailed history of the house and Philly through the fisheye. Oh my, the sinks are filled with a pustule pinkbrown with plungers protruding, tags on the walls 'death to cops,' and someone is peeing in the foyer.
We'll be playing in the basement so we haul the hundreds of pounds of equipment, which we would get so efficient carrying, down a tight leaning thin wood stairwell. Below everything is dayglow, pizza boxes and beer bottles and juice cartons from the '90s are cement in every corner of the cellar. Upstairs we hear the rain start, and then the thunder, and then the humans begin to arrive. And the music starts, and we claw at each other like a thousand legged dog trying to figure himself out within the walls and the strobing light and it is so dark and we are so loud.
After we negotiate reloading in the downpour we roll slowly back into Philly only to unload once more into the living room that we realize won't fit all of us. It is late and we are all wounded. Calls are made and a miracle is made and we head down the street with our bags and our big umbrellas into a stranger's den and largess basement and Abi crashes immediately on the sofa as the rest of us find respite and soap in the basement. And Barry and I look at one another and wonder if every day is going to be like this, knowing full well we won't survive, but we're too pissed off to speak. So it's bedtime, and Philly broke us in.

Time to Think

.... grumble grumble.... It burst forth, after millions of years of light! After miles of travail and outer-landish relocation, and bugs in my beard, bottles in my throat, a winding canary mocking me from the ogre tree. But really now, really for the first time again, there is enough semblance of order to make merry on the page. And before forward motion is took, we must reflect. Like the Knight of the Mirrors now, Don Quixote must stand up for his reckoning and make less pillow talk.

                                                                    Tour: Day 1