Zen And The Art of Getting Over

I am trying to make sense of how it will be for the next few months. It all seems pretty chaotic these days. I see friends all the time and tell them that it's great. That there is lots of time off. That it really is a breeze, but I'm not entirely sure that it's true. I am civered in bruises and sometimes my feet ache at the end of the day. It's the point in a cycle where life becomes a cluttered, confusing string of hotel rooms that all look the same, and creature comforts like q-tips and carrot juice seem ridiculously far away.
















Long, long days, 16 hours or more on a bus make me seasick, and it matters less and less where it stops. Unless of course it's Chicago. I really like Chicago.


















The shows can be really empty from time to time. I am officially over the small time radio festivals that suck the creative life out of everyone involved. They are consistently odd groupings of bands who want nothing to do with one another, much less whatever backwater town they are playing in, and the worst of it seems to be the fact that my downward spiral of a day begins at the crack of dawn.

















I have to say that the analogy came quickly after watching Chris Cornell howl something reminiscent of a Soundgarden song at a half-full ampitheatre. Bugs smashed in the grill of a semi. It made sense at the time.
















Today I found Toronto to be pretty inspiring. It was a chilly morning, but by noon the sun shot straight down through the clouds and warmed the city. I bought some socks and listened to the national record. I took my shoes off and did the crossword puzzle. Today was alright. Take that tour dredgery.

Heavy Metal Compromise

That is Bobby's code for a really excellent mullet. Other acceptable alternatives are 'El Camino' and 'Hockey Hair.' We discussed this, and many other entrancing subjects while waiting for an hour and a half to cross the Canadian border into Toronto today. Here is Bobby last night playing the guitar and singing in the middle of 49th Street at 2 AM.

















Last night was the much stressed over Bowery Ballroom show. Much of the last few weeks has been spent rattling about ideas of how to fit a band on a small stage and make it look good. It wasn't easy, and it was a particularly hot day in NY (the famed ideal three weeks per year of nice weather having come and gone). The Bowery is where I had my first real job doing lights, and I've seen some incredible shows there. It was a nice homecoming. Damn near everyone seems to be right where I left them as always. I like that.
I got to see a bunch of good friends last night. Good friends always seem to pop up when you are having a terribly stressful day and want nothing more than to run around town and buy the new Shellac record (which I managed to do...it's called 'Excellent Italian Greyhound'...ha!). Scheid stopped by during the day. We missed the Dinosaur Jr. show tonight in NY. Such is life. I saw Blasco who is fresh off his new gig with the secret machines, PJ who is just about as crazy as I remember (and who tried to drag me on to the roof of the club before the show even started), and a grinning Richard Priest in a new white suit. It was a good one. After all was said and done one girl tapped me on the shoulder and said the lights were 'fucking awesome.' Works for me.