On getting to Portland

America being poor as it is, I bet Greyhound is experiencing a resurgence of riders. No more is it just for the extremely unwashed (that only accounted for maybe 30% of the passengers). It’s not even that cheap, considering that you are paying to get somewhere 3 times as slowly and with accommodations enjoyed mostly in kennels. For 15 hours, you enjoy such games as, how do I get this weirdo to stop falling asleep on me, will this drunk guy vomit or get kicked off the bus first, and which of you is most likely to decapitate your seatmate?

Rules for riding the overnight Greyhound bus:

1. Always bring food with you. Otherwise you might be forced to eat a sandwich you bought at 12AM in Sacramento from a convenience store.

2. While waiting in a bus station after dark, avoid eye contact with strangers. While this may seem unnecessarily defensive, it will save you the time of trying to explain that, no, you are not looking to “hook up” while in line for the bus. But thanks anyways.

3. If your seatmate is writing demonic scriptures to him or herself, it’s bet to avoid engaging them in a vigorous religious debate.

4. Know that you probably will not sleep, so be prepared to arrive in the morning with very little idea of where you are, why you are there or how you got there. [Note: The inability to fall asleep can be counteracted with alcohol or drugs. This will make you a part of the majority of your fellow bus riders. However, this is only advisable if you want to disregard rules 2 and 3].

With these and other tips, you too can enjoy a luxury also shared with such members of society of jail inmates and the criminally insane. For both, the same rules apply: find your best bitch face and sleep with one eye open.

Live Blogging Exhaustion, Part II

Place: Portland, OR. One 15 hour bus ride from SF to Portland. One drive up the coast for another person. One drive between SF--Vancouver--Portland for other. Now we sit in the green room, staying awake by sheer group momentum.

Douglas Fir Lounge. I appreciate your awesome room, and that we are staying in a hotel I only have to walk 5 minutes to.

The Southwest, a non-chronological update

I'm in SF right now, but with spotty internet and only a vague interest in remembering the southwest, I'm going to plaster my car written interpretations of NM, AZ, and the rest.

Like most people from the North who haven’t traveled farther south than Virginia (maybe that’s just me?), everything here feels foreign (except the feeling of not speaking the correct language. I don’t really speak French OR Spanish, so I’m used to being confused by background conversations). The farther west we traveled, the more the landscape became dry and flat, its only punctuation the mountain ranges dotting the horizon. Fences penned in flocks of animals everywhere, though they hardly seemed in a hurry to leave with way. There was a strange slow feeling that overcame everything, the only movement from the dust clouds.

Goats in the Texas plains....

New Mexico from a car

The native plants will kill you

The plants, unless they are cacti, are browns, despite it being summer weather, signs on the road warn against dust storms, and, oh yea, border patrol sets up random check points within the US. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that, when their version of “checking” the cars consists of glancing at the inhabitant, they’re just looking for anyone who looks a little too “Mexican”. At first I was shocked, then I remembered that Arizona had set the trend for personally violating laws based mostly on race, so I shouldn’t be terribly shocked New Mexico was on that ball. Seriously, though, it felt like every 10 cars on the highway was a border patrol SUV, just….patroling. Or on the way to patrol.

This is the closest I’ve been to Mexico, and I have to admit I had no real concept of how long the US hugs the Mexican border. You can, at parts, actually see THE FENCE they built. It’s a pretty serious fence, too. The amount of money they spend on building fences and patrolling the borders and convincing people that Mexico is the cause of all economic woe could be used on….well, just about anything else.

Not much else can really be said about Arizona. There are some amazing mountains surrounding some towns that I can only imagine vacationing in. There is a lot to be said about amazing topography, but maybe they could have created towns that weren’t sprawling strip malls. The gallery we played at, Solar Culture, has such an amazing vibe to it. It’s at one calm and energized, and it was the perfect place to begin our tour with Sharon Von Ettan, who has a voice that can break hearts.

Phoenix was basically another sprawling mass. The palm trees, at least, were greener. But good god, what a sprawling, lame town.

On the way we hit not one but TWO different check points. The US is serious about Mexican border patrol, my god.

But there were sand dunes. It was like crawling through a Mojave, but outside of Yuma, Arizona.

Live Blogging Exhaustion

9:22 PM Pacific Whatever-the-fuck time. I think it's Pacific? At this point, days and time have no...more...meaning. I am currently at the Detroit Bar in Costa Mesa, California. Our shows are really going well, everyone sounds amazing, and I am so frackin' honored to be doing this. However, I am also pretty exhausted. We go on in...an hour or so I think? The sound guy most definitely is a yeller, so here's hoping no one gets chewed out. I am also in possession of a BMW 3-series, owned by someone probably lost to sea (John, if you read this, you'll understand why I stole your car and took in to SF. That, and it's literally 0-60 in 2 seconds.) Traffic at all hours, an amazing and terrifying plasticine sheen. Beaches that are beautiful even when it rains. Los Angeles, you are at once a dream and a nightmare I think I've had before.


I did, however, get some sick shoes on consignment.

SXSW: or, we’ll sleep when we’re dead

Austin, like any liberal city in the US, stands out amongst a sea of conservative communities. It reminded me of Ann Arbor (Michigan, for those not so Midwestern) at certain points, except with 90 degree weather in Mid-March. Capital buildings, cute coffee shops, art galleries, river walkways. Were it not for the fact that I know in the summer it becomes meltingly hot, I would certainly consider this an optional home. The river (or was it a lake?) proved to be a necessary escape point from the SXSW madness.

CAW!

But enough about Texas landscape (we’ve already done that), let’s cut to the grit: SXSW, or, when Raybans overran the entire Southwest. 350,000 concert-goers, thousands of bands, countless cans of free Lone Star and just as many taco trucks. The streets were PACKED with musicians and viewers.

The pace was intense. Play a show, move the gear, go to a show, play another show, attend party, go to another show. All while fighting crowds and lines and trying desperately to find free bottled water (free beer? Everywhere. Water? Not so much).

Some places were more into it than others.

I was lucky to catch some great bands and play some good shows. We started out at Red 7, a venue that normally caters to the more punk crowd but, for this evening, was hosting a wider range of bands. A personal favorite of mine were the Luyas, a band also from Montreal but who I had never had the opportunity to see perform. We both had some problems navigated the sound system, but our individual sounds still came through.

The Luyas rocking it with light bulb accompaniment

Little Scream

Daytrotter.com hosted us for a recorded web performance. It was amazing to have an almost endless amount of time to set up, sound check, and a couple times to re-do takes. Plus we got some badass photos. You can check out our performance, as well as that of the Luyas (and check out their music here, it's wonderful). Daytrotter recorded a countless amount of bands while at southby, so I’m not sure when we’re going up, but check out the site, it’s a great place to listen to new bands.

During the day, Austin is probably 80% traveling musicians, 20% locals attended shows or trying to get the hell out of town. After hours, though, the natives start to come back. Suddenly you find yourself wandering the streets at 2 AM, trying to hook up with your friends (a nearly impossible feat at SXSW, especially if you have a Canadian phone that doesn’t work EVEN though they said it would, thanks a lot Solomobile), surrounded not by your fellow musicians but by drunk University of Texas frat guys. “Where am I?!” you say fearfully to yourself as another person yells “get off my back, BRAH!”. Then a tiny voice inside your head says “Don’t you know? You’re in TEXAS”.

Texas: or, I can see Mexico from my house

Texas is an infamous state, isn’t it. “You all can go to hell, I’m going to Texas” (it’s hot enough to confuse the two). “Don’t mess with Texas. “ and my personal favorite, “Don’t mess with Texas Grandmas”, courtesy of the bumpersticker on Mike Hotlzman’s skyblue ford hatchback.. Either way, Texas has always existed as a legendary state, a place both viewed with awe (they still have the death penalty! Everybody has a gun!) and fear(see the former). However, being from Michigan, a state known for not needing the death penalty because you’ll possibly get shot there, I know not to rely on stereotypes. Or at least I am vaguely aware of that. Well, I try. Sometimes.

After enduring a cripplingly terrifying flight (for me at least), we landed in Dallas. Or to be more precise, we landed in Irving, TX, a suburb of Dallas. And like all suburbs, it left a lot to desire. Unless you desire Walmart, something called Whataburger, or Goodwill (actually, I did desire that last one. I got a great sweater and an Irish flag belt.)

Typical highway. fail.

Sprawling highways and chain restaurants snaked through the landscape. Sprawling highways named after Texas’s most revered natives.

I guess at least it was the first one? No, that's still not ok.

It should be noted that the people of Texas are outrageously polite. Smiling at perfect strangers, making small talk to whoever is around. As a native Northerner who has lived mostly in cities, I find this extremely disconcerting. I would say it was the weather but I find extremely hot weather makes me less friendly, more homicidal.

It’s also worth noting that, being an angry city person, I am used to a general political stance of “maybe Obama isn’t the best, but he’s better than the last few (except Clinton. He was the best)”. Which is why I spent about 20 minutes in the bookstore marveling at the political table that boasted books such as “Obama Zombies”, the telling account of how the youth movement behind Obama’s election was based on brainwashing.

Or perhaps you would prefer this more concise evaluation of Obama’s administration

I also got a window into the demographics of Irving, TX.

This change in demographics does lead to some amazing advertising;

Colbert?

All kidding aside, I’m probably just bitter because it’s TOO GOD DAMN HOT.

The further west you go, the more the winds pick up, the landscape gets dustier and you’re left with a vague fear you’ve stepped into “there will be blood”. The copious amount of small oil wells do little to assuage this fear (um, there would be a picture if I could figure out how to turn it vertical).

Being on tour, most of my pictures have been taken from cars, so it’s rare to capture that fact that, once you leave the urban centers, Texas does have a majesty to it’s landscape.

Please ignore the dashboard.

I leave you with my personal favorite song about Texas, by Jon Wayne.

Welcome back, welcome back, Welcome back

My adventures began on the snowy mountains roads of Vermont. Having crossed back into the US to begin a tour with Little Scream, I found myself lamenting that this would be the last time I would see snow until next winter (or until the freak April snow storm inevitably happens in Montreal). Maybe lamenting isn't the right word....excited? elated? You get the picture. I tried to take some pictures (using the camera generously lent to me by Lisa), but mountain photos out of a moving vehicle don't really do any justice. It was absolutely gorgeous, to say the least.

No wonder Vermonters are so...wait, what ARE Vermonters?

Flying, or "you are all, at this moment, actively a part of my living nightmare"

Despite my best efforts, caravans or covered wagons have not made a comeback as a viable method of transportation. Due to this, I found myself sitting on plane bound for Dallas out of Newark, desperately trying to control to impending sense of doom I felt. All logic fails to make any appeals. All I can hear is the roar of the engines and a screaming baby and as the plane wobbles through turbulence and I have another drink to maybe bring a vague sense of calm I think "why oh why are they making me pay $4 to watch television?!". No amount of Pranayama breathing can make me forget I am 40,000 feet (thats 12,192 meters for my metric system friends) in the air wobbling up and down and up and up and down and...

I did, however, take some photos, thinking "this is probably the last photo I will ever take. But if it's not, they'll make nice blog pics..."

New Jersey has never looked better.


Landing in Tejas.

But in fact I survived, much to my own amazement, though apparently not to any of the people having "normal" reactions to flying. That is to say, they managed to stay uncurled out of a ball. Imagine that...