| Car Bar |
[Oct. 14th, 2009|11:51 am] |
The last show of the tour was Sunday night at the Slaughtered Lamb in London. That place was the first good food we had all tour. In fact the spinach and goat cheese pie with mashed potatoes and gravy was probably the best thing I've eaten in a month or two.
After the bar closed (most bars here close at around eleven), we loitered around on the sidewalk next to the Car Bar for a while. The Car Bar: See, it's usually custom for the members of the band to get a free drink or two at the bar they're playing. In some cases you get just a discount, or nothing at all. It varies widely. At multiple stops along this tour, we were given cases of beer. But not before, or even during the show. No, AFTER the show. So far after the show actually, that the first time it happened we were all loaded up and just pulling away from the club when the promoter ran out to catch us before we left, a big box of Stella in her arms. I know, it doesn't really make any sense, but better late than never, right? Okay, so in addition to the bottles of Stella and.. Miller High Life? (See, in their twisted foreign minds, they think that, because we're from America, logically, we would want American beer) we had accumulating in the rental car, there were also random bottles of whisky and scotch we'd been purchasing along the way, either for their low price and foul taste (Whyte & Mackay), dutie-free availability (Jamison), or just for the brand name's lordability (High Commissioner). There was also one slightly-less-than-half-full jug of Tortilla Gold brand tequila I'd brought all the way from Seattle, that we had just, for various reasons, been unable to successfully kill off as of yet. All of this alcohol, in the car, equals.. yeah, you get it.
SO, we're all standing in a circle on the street, drinking bottles of beer and passing the wretched tequila around in a last attempt to destroy it once and for all (James even threw the cap down the street so that we'd HAVE to drink it all - but for some reason the effect of that psychological power play wasn't strong enough, and I still have a flask full of the rotten cactus juice in my possession at the time of this writing). Word of the Car Bar spread and a few others joined us. One guy from the other band just "ordered" two beers and then left. "Hey, did that guy just..?" A couple girls are trying to convince us to play some songs, because they missed us at the show. Eventually James gets out a guitar and begins to lead a sing-a-long of Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone. Almost immediately we hear a voice from above yelling at us to shut the fuck up - or whatever the cockney version of that phrase is (probably involved cows or blood, I don't remember). Thus ended the Car Bar Concert, and eventually, we all dispersed into the night. |
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| UK Tour .. Day 4 |
[Oct. 3rd, 2009|08:55 pm] |
The tour started a few days ago, after a short vacation in Iceland. (see www.lordsoficeland.com for pictures)
Tonight we're in Manchester playing the Bay Horse. We drove here without sleeping after going to an all night party following our show in Leslie, Scotland last night.
Oh on that subject: The show in Leslie was a blast. Tons of crazy kids, the other bands were good. Afterward they invited us to a part down the street. It was a weird combination of "normal" house party (cigarettes, alcohol, loud music, etc.), "formal" house party (abundance of finger foods, some parents present), and scottish hoe-down (a bedroom full of party-goers singing beatles songs, dudes whippin out their dicks and waving them around in the kitchen). At one point, the "host" of the party jumped up on the coffee table, pulled his shirt up, and invited others to whip him with a belt. I took a turn, and am in fact now wearing said belt. Thanks Pedro, if you ever read this. My belt was literally tearing apart, I was really in need of a new one, and this one will double as a memento with which I'll always remember your awesome party.
Okay, back to Manchester: We had to get here super early for two radio spots before the show.. Arrived at the venue, there was supposed to be a drumset, but someone dropped the ball so there wasn't one. And no other bands with drums on the bill tonight, save for some bongos.
We remembered there was a drumset sitting in the lobby of the radio station we were just at, so Alan and I drove back there in an attempt to borrow it for the night. The guy at the desk said he couldn't let anything out of the building and wasn't going to budge (even after Alan offered to buy him a coke and a sandwich.. ha!)
Alan kept "editing" our story to make it easier to digest for the man, eventually saying that we only needed one snare drum stand, because we'd left ours in Edinburgh (a city we haven't yet set foot in). The guy kept refusing, but then we found someone else who was more helpful, she phoned her boss and okay'd it for us. But by then we had to stick to our story of only needing a snare stand, so that's all we got.
We drove back to the Bay Horse and see the bongo player walking in the building, carrying a snare stand.
So I whittled a drumstick down on one end with my switchblade, duct taped it to an extra mic stand, and voila! cymbal stand. Turn an empty suitcase on it's end and.. kick drum! ..Yeah, we'll see how well this goes. Time to go play. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 1st, 2009|08:41 pm] |
i don't know who reads this anymore, and i'm gonna try my hardest to write this without giving that any thought.
on tour with james apollo right now. we play tonight at the troubadour in the london, in just a couple hours, then on to glasgow tomorrow. the trips has been great so far, i had a brief vacation in iceland before arriving in london yesterday. but more importantly, it's given me some distance from everything back home, and space to think.. perhaps not nearly enough, or maybe too much. i'm not sure yet. my brain - a constant inflicter of mental torture upon myself - is stuck in an evil and depressing loop spinning my head around and around ideas about my life: where i live, why i live there, my girlfriend, my exgirlfriend, my band(s), my job, my house, my purpose. it's all under fire..
i know this is pretty normal for most people. well, on some level. i mean, we all stay up nights worrying about whether or not we've made the right decisions (right?). But for me it's become a constant. it's all my mind can think of, about 98 percent of the time.
i feel like maybe i need to be on something. maybe i need therapy. or maybe i just need to go with one of the crazy notions and see if it makes things better or worse. that'd at least be better than just doing nothing but staring at the spinning wheel and wishing it would stop. |
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| new york |
[Jun. 1st, 2009|12:07 pm] |
got back yesterday. it was a blast. we played the living room in manhattan friday night and pete's candy store in brooklyn saturday night. both shows went really well. i'll post details and pictures soon but in the meantime check out these videos:
we stayed with my lovely friend jessica rose, who moved to ny from seattle a while back, here's a live, in-bedroom performance from her:
us at the living room friday night:
letters and numbers, a fantastic group that we played with at pete's on saturday:
and us doing "in dreams" with katie hasty of the above-mentioned letters and numbers:
hope you like 'em. XOXO, d. |
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| a series of letters |
[Feb. 9th, 2009|07:30 pm] |
(i just found this in a notebook hidden somewhere in my room. there's no date but i'm guessing i wrote it sometime in 2006, as that's when the couple other things in the book are from. though it sounds a lot more like something i would've written much longer ago, like 2001..)
this kid walks with a limp but that doesn't mean he's slow.
we've all been struck by a machine at some point
in some room,
some stupid expectation
like the weight of your backpack
you carry these things with you
your music,
your blood,
your indignation.
you can force me to do something
tell me i have to go somewhere
make me bring you proof
that i was there
and i'll listen, your words like water will pass through my computer
my calculator,
my silver hands,
my own machine.
built cheaply but not poorly.
its wires exposed and
its lights no longer flashing.
i'll give you the proof
if it helps you sleep,
but just so you know:
my machine can forge anything
so these papers are worthless.
if you've ever felt the empty sound of the room breathing, i understand.
it could be because you're alone
or just because you're alone - if you're lucky.
my letters are an attempt to reach you - to tell you that you are no longer alone. i realize the room is still empty and probably grows wider each minute but if you stack my letters like a heater - i mean, in the form of a human - i mean give them a name or-
..what i'm trying to say is:
use them like..
what i'm telling you-
no, what i'm asking you,
is to please read each one carefully.
number 1:
hi,
it's me and this is the first in a series of letters designed to keep you warm.
i have secrets to tell you so i've wrapped this in extra sheets of paper for - privacy - and, as a back up plan. (if i fail, you can burn the paper.)
most of the secret information is regarding specific heights, weights, measurements, and so on - boring, but vital information - so i've put it on a separate sheet.
what i will tell you now is - well, you haven't seen me in sometime and.. i've changed a bit. well.. it's been a while, i'm sure you've changed a bit too. it's no big deal really. but because i like to be as open and honest as possible, i've written you a list of my changes. they are as follows:
my hands are made of metal
my eyes are mostly glass
i drive a motorcycle and
i'm taller than i used to be.
my right leg is almost entirely mechanical so i walk with a limp.
a couple of my organs are also mechanical and so i require oil to function properly.
part of my skull is solid steel and
they replaced my heart with an engine.
also
i'm no longer vegan,
now i'm just vegetarian.
i hope none of this comes as a shock to you,
and i hope we can remain friends, or.. foes.
sincerly yours,
jack |
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| why my sleep is broken |
[Nov. 26th, 2008|08:09 am] |
every night you step softly through my dreams, like a killer in the dark
and slice my heart open again.
it's been well over a year now, i know,
but for some reason you never tire of this activity, in fact,
you seem to enjoy it more each time - the cold steel of your blade
more jagged and ruthless each time - either that or i want it more each time,
it's hard to tell the difference.
every night my heart jumps through my throat when i see you,
and the sun through my chest,
it's terrifying, yet wonderful, like finally coming home.
i can hardly bear it, but i want it to so bad, need it so badly
to be real:
you'd kiss my face slowly, tell me you love me,
and then slide the blade into me, and let me fade away.
in every dream you're more beautiful,
and every time i wake up shivering. |
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| somebody please help |
[Jul. 24th, 2008|09:41 pm] |
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i'm so lost, and i don't even know where to begin looking. |
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| nightmares |
[Jul. 21st, 2008|11:28 am] |
a few nights ago i woke up from one of the worst nightmares i've ever had. my brother was dead and i was on my knees at his tombstone, bawling my fucking eyes out. he didn't even actually die in the dream, he was just gone. it was so realistic it felt like there was no way it could be a dream. that's how my dreams always are. incredibly real. though usually they're also incredibly mundane. i'll dream i went to the store and bought some groceries or something. then i'll wake up and think, "oh, i didn't actually do that, so i still have to.. whatever." or sometimes something good happens like i win a bunch of money or something. and i think, "this has to be a dream." then i go through a bunch of the tests people would normally do to convince themselves they're not dreaming, and i pass them all, think, "wow, this really IS real.. sweeeeet!!!" ..and then i wake up. but normally they're not super terrible ones like the one about my brother. so i just attribute that one bad dream to reading this feature article in the stranger about new age monuments, right before i went to bed (http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/Content?oid=620532&ft).
but then this morning i woke from another terrible dream. this time i was also bawling my eyes out, hugging my brother and telling him through the tears, "i don't know what happened, you're the smartest person i know, you're gonna be okay, they'll make you okay again.." as i checked him into a mental institution.
it was really, really scary. |
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| we stayed up all night singing tom waits together |
[May. 6th, 2008|01:55 pm] |
i came home from europe early. because i felt like it, that's why. spent the last week destroying birthdays and falling somewhere i probably shouldn't, but there's only one way to learn, as far as i know, and i'm not the type to give up on anything, ever.
i got some new typewriters. i'd like a new tattoo. who can draw crows? |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 8th, 2008|09:43 am] |
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writing from my hostel in downtown amsterdam. why i didn't make this city the first stop on my trip i do not know (perhaps because if i did i'd be out of money by day two). i've never seen more gorgeous girls in my life than those behind the glass of the red light district. made awkward only by the great legions of grandparents roaming the streets and gawking in awe. it seems all the tourists here are either in their 20s or in their 70s. |
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| writing this from san remo, italy |
[Apr. 1st, 2008|11:58 pm] |
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we have yet to eat any food here (in italy or france) that was really any good. save for the gilato. i still want meatballs, but have not yet found them. though it smells like a thousand waffles cooking right now behind me, where's there's a huge spread of food (at the hotel) that i'm about to go eat. it doesn't look as good as it smells (ie. not actually any waffles) but still.. it's free. speaking of free i won enough $ at the casino last night that so far i have as much $ as i left with, so the last two days have been free. and that's pretty rad. my brother lost on day one, he had KK and got beat by AA. which sucks being as when he played in the world series he had AA and got beat by KK. hey, it happens. we met an awesome guy from england. apparently i'm gonna go stay with him or something. he's playing in the tournament today, though we won't see how he's doing as we're leaving this town. onward to venice. i haven't taken many pictures, mostly cause i hate carrying around a camera or doing anything else that makes me look like a tourist. but i'll take some. the view from our hotel room is better than any photo you've ever seen on any postcard. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 29th, 2008|04:09 am] |
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i wanted to write something about broken hearts. about how i've been broken so many times that i wonder if now i'm breaking them back as some sort of revenge or just because i'm lost and searching. i don't think i can consciously answer that question but it doesn't really matter why. i don't like it either way. if it's the former it's not making me feel any better and if it's the latter it's not helping me find my way - only telling me where not to go. and this world already has too many of those signs. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 18th, 2008|02:31 pm] |
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i'm going to italy in less than two weeks. |
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| snails |
[Feb. 21st, 2008|12:05 am] |
i can't stop listening to this song. i'm like that. i get really into a song and just have to listen to it about 100 times within three days. my roommates probably hate me for this. i can't blame them.
the format - snails
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| restless |
[Feb. 17th, 2008|08:28 pm] |
sitting here reading through all these old entries that go back years and listening to the music from that time and i wish so badly that i could travel back to then but i don't know exactly why. things weren't necessarily better then i just have trouble remembering the bad parts, so only the good parts filter through and i remember it being the best times of my life. we were actually creating things and i actually wrote things and now what are we doing?
i feel so restless i just want to LEAVE. to get up and go but i
DON'T
KNOW
WHERE.
and i don't think it really matters. i don't really need a destination, i just need a journey. i need a reason. if i could i'd get in my car and just drive... god i wish there were still open mics in this town, reading my shitty writing in front of a crowded cafe always made it seem less shitty. they all loved it at least. it was one of the only things that ever truly made me feel alive.
i'm so nostalgic for everything that's no longer here. i'm in the same house but it's an entirely different home. i still love it but in such a different way. i've worked so hard for it yet i'd turn it into a smoldering mess and leave it behind me in a second if i had some sort of plan. some sort of purpose. arghgh!! it's so frustrating. i feel like a caged animal after they've opened the cage and it has no idea where to go or what to do.
i hate being stuck on the past but every time i look back at it i see such wonderful beautiful things and when i look around at the present all i see is a giant mess. |
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| tremors |
[Feb. 17th, 2008|01:53 pm] |
i talk about the bridge like it's a holy place. a sacred place. i have no reasons to see it in any other light, that i know of. for at the moment there's nothing else in my life. nothing to color the notion any which way. so i see it, very plainly, as just another path.
not until it's name tumbles from her lips does the full ugliness and disgust of it hit me. hard, but continuously. like an earthquake with aftershocks for hours. only then do i see what a terrible thing i've done. that just because i'm currently filled with nothing is no excuse to put my sad empty feelings out there where they can rub off on the rest of the world.
on the contrary, it's a challenge. it's a message that says, "only now that you've hit the bottom can you truly become stronger and wiser and begin your climb back up." it's a dare to overcome with hope and faith and patience and understanding. an invitation to grow and learn. this is a challenge to rise to the occasion and become a better person.
i accept. |
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| what i wrote you from jail last night. |
[Jan. 29th, 2008|10:58 pm] |
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from my cot i'm wishing there was a hole in the sky so i could see you through the stars. from the absolute rock bottom of my insides i love you with a force that could flatten cities, and then some. i wish i could tear myself open in front of you so that you could see the pure good inside of me - a giant ball of white hot heat that is my motor. when i'm near you it feels as if it's going to burst through my chest - quite literally - and it hurts. but it's this feeling that, for me, solves the mystery of existence. |
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