Glass Elevators

So it begins. I flew up to Seattle last week to start rehearsals, and a small tour that will finally dump us out into the baking, 110-degree heat of another disastrous shot at Coachella. Until then, it will be some fairly typical Seattle weather I'm afraid.
















We spent a day in the new Showbox in Seattle. I've got some friends working there, and it's a pretty ideal place for rehearsals. It was nice to have some time to get everything together, dust it off, make sure it turns on and such, and paint every damn thing so that there is no confusion as to where it may have come from, or where it may be going.

It was a flurry of excitement for a few hours. Most, if not all of these guys have had the last year and a half off. Some have vacationed, lounged and finally accepted real jobs here and there. I've been pretty busy throughout. It was interesting to watch everyone get reacquainted with what most of us consider 'real' work, which only means lifting something heavier than a sandwich and being upright for more than an hour at a time.















It all came together pretty quickly, and while I hadn't given it as much thought as I would have liked to, the lights looked alright too.















I ran a few errands in town, one of which led me to the band's rehearsal space, the hall of justice. This is the little spot out in Ballard, in the burbs, where the band has recorded the better part of a few records. It is also the spot where Nirvana recorded Bleach. It was neat just to be there.

It's not more than a couple rooms filled to the brim with junk.















And the occasional deep thought, like this here pan flute flow chart. It bears saying that the guys in the band are some of the most hilarious people that I have ever traveled with. They run the spectrum of mischievous to comedic, but always enjoy a laugh. For example: a few years ago, following a show, Nick though it would be a laugh to peel the label off of a bottle of honey and put it in the dressing room shower in place of the soap. Seeing as the next week the venue would play host to a number of shit bands, the reward would be all the richer. Unfortunately (or not, depending on how your sense of humor works) Chopper, their guitar tech, got in the shower and went straight for what he described as some weird natural hippie soap, and was perplexed when he couldn't get it to lather. I think he had honey on his feet for several days afterwards. I digress from the pan flute flow chart.




I woke up the next morning to this outside my door. I take it to be a good omen.















And just like that we were shifting into gear, on the bus, and on the road to the first show in Bremerton.

Bremerton is a weird little navy town north of Seattle full of aircraft carriers, warships and little else. It is the site of one of the few remaining nuclear submarine bases as well. That mattered very little to me. What was of serious consequence was the quality of coffee and pancakes at the local diner. I would have to say, if asked, excellent.















The show was at a little theatre in the center of town. It had a strange, but not uninviting undersea theme.

See what I mean? How can you not love balconyfish?

It was a good one. Ropey at times, rusty at others, but not a bad start.

And then we disappeared into the night on the was to Eugene. It was my first time doing a show there. Jake, our merch guy was talking to his parents the other day, and when he told them that he was excited to go to Eugene because he had never been there, they politely corrected him and told him that he was, in fact, conceived in Eugene. Touche'