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June 22.

We find ourselves in Toronto, caught in lake shore breezes, amidst a broken sky of clouds and ethereal blue. A day off yesterday, to rejuvenate after a five-show tenure. It was much needed, I believe, for everyone's sanity; not that it necessarily makes the next day easier, but more so cleans the slate from the previous week. Days off are akin to small controlled doses of amnesia.

That said, the shows prior to this afternoon had gone well. Indianapolis, despite the apocalyptic infestation of mayflies, was an unpredictably fun and offbeat show. The night before, in Cleveland at the Tower City Amphitheater, we found ourselves in stitches over the "dance contest" that OK Go! had with four competition winners after their set. Apparently, four young women from San Diego won a contest to match the band's first viral YouTube video, were flown to Cleveland, set up at the Ritz, and asked to dance onstage with the band for the judicious audience. Needless to say, it was a good time in that oppressively humid city.

In a turn of events that we've found ourselves growing increasingly numb to, despite the significance, we are set to play the Molson Amphitheater, the same stage we (dis)graced two years ago opening sheepishly for the Pixies and Weezer. Now we've come complete with three buses, four trucks, our catering team, and a few crusty East Coasters, as if this is the norm. I suppose it is now, and by that argument, we'll dispense with the introspection. If you're feeling nostalgic, dig through some old family photos or something...

We only stay through the midnight hour tonight, boarding the busses again for the long haul to Boston, or a suburb thereof, where we'll play the biggest and, potentially, most exciting audience yet.


June 17.

The blacktop blisters bare toes; upstate New York heats a cloudless day by midday; people linger with warm coffee, waiting until needed, talking shop outside of the shop.

More days have passed then it seems. Nearly a week since we began this tour, we've only been to three cities thus far, our stop in Darien Lakes, NY rounding out four. This tour has seen many bleary eyed amble through an empty floor to a lighting board to work on a "scene" not yet finished. Ambition nearly caught us off guard this time around; we shot for gold this time and perhaps have just barely reached it.

Our stage is twice what it has ever been. We have more lights on stage than some small towns. By that figure, we nearly have a small town traveling with us; we've topped out at 34-ish (seems to always change) in our caravan, a small migrant commune. We know this is no Rolling Stones tour, with dozens of busses and exponential semi-trucks wheeling away tons and tons of (un)necessary gear. Regardless, this is quite the step for us.

Needless to say, perhaps, we've needed a few shows to settle in, to iron out wrinkled details and brainstorm amendments. Our show in Minneapolis was good for all the obstacles facing us that afternoon. No, it was not perfect, but the crowd was responsive and pleased that they were first in the country to experience the summer show. Chicago, by nature of the city, was equally good to us, a favorite of ours to frequent. Our last show of the three night stand felt as it should, a capitalization of the few shows under our belts and a feeling of finally being comfortable with the beast we created.

Today we find ourselves at an amusement park, pushed to a corner in a makeshift backstage lot for a seasonal summer stage. But for those who enjoy the thrill-seeking life, we'll probably be able to catch a few rides before sound check.

We'll write again in a few days.


May 20.

An excerpt from a journal:

"The world from above, where roads and freeways appear as veins leading to the pulse of a city and the quiet cells of villages and townships. Holland looks like a modernist painting, hundreds of rectangular plots stacked like sandstone against the earth; a cross-section of a clean stone fireplace. Picasso in the distance: cubist farmland in even shades of earthen tan and brown. Now, it is as if God has dripped clouds like paint from the brush atop the landscape; as the strokes become more defined, the painter's whimsical impulses are realized."

A beautiful image at probably 150 miles per hour:

As our jet neared the runway, the final seconds of man against the odds aboard a tin can shaped like an "airplane," a group of onlookers gather on benches alongside a bicycle trail. A few people sat calmly on the bench and watched our bird descend from the sky, its trajectory and bearing its divine fate. It would land safely this time, again, they must have thought. It was as if the seemingly long-standing technology of aviation remained an enigma, and indefinable wonderment that descended upon them in patterned sequence. It was after the fact, after we had gotten our bags and were wandering through the terminal, that I realized that Hamburg, DE was one of the world's centers of aviation, headquarters to a superpower with an assembly line to boast. Perhaps it was in these people's blood. They stood, or sat, awaiting each approach as if the mystery would always remain thus.


May 17.

As the body cries for sleep, its limbs frustrated and limp in exhaustion, the eyes glazed by climate change and cultural overstimulation, one can only postulate that another tour as been set in motion, and that someday one will catch a full night of sleep.

But none of this is guaranteed, of course.

We find ourselves in Amsterdam currently, an overcast sky casting a steely gray gloss on the canals as tourists and citizens alike walk briskly in overcoats to and fro. The occasional yelp from a youngster fresh from the "coffee" shop; a two-toned wail of a European siren. As it is, the city appears quiet and resolute this very moment.

A show tonight, sold-out for fifteen hundred folks, at a club called the Paradiso. Nearby, our hotel, the Amsterdam American, the scene of near folklore of rock bands past and present, the greats lost in translation at the bar downstairs. All this has been passed along to us; alas, we're both too nave and young to know of it.

Something like eight cities in ten days, or a figure equally as daunting, awaits us. After Amsterdam, London. After London, Hamburg. Then Zurich. No, is Zurich later? We operate evening to evening. Can I leave my bags in this hotel room this evening; is our flight tomorrow morning? The scale on which we gauge comfort is drastically dissimilar to before. But such is life.

We'll write again. Internet, for whatever reason, is the burden of convenience that we so dearly seek out, our lives among the fibers.


May 1.

The morning on which we'd be waking in Kansas City, we instead are home. We've had to cancel the two remaining shows due to a family emergency. As we hate to do these things to the fans, we appreciate your understanding and realize that the situation warranted such sudden change.

Thanks to the fans who attended the past few weeks worth of shows; it was foreshadowing the atmosphere of summer we so eagerly look forward to. A short two week journey across the Atlantic separates us from this apex of our touring careers; we look forward to seeing you, if not from a distance, this summer.

And a heartfelt thanks to the crew. We would have virtually no careers if not for your support.

Talk again soon.


April 29.

After a few days spent in a magical 47 square miles, we're ready to resume the journey we abandoned temporarily a few nights ago. We find ourselves in Champaign/Urbana, checking into a clean, new "brand-name" hotel and awaiting our show tomorrow night at the university here. Having not seen any road save one, I can say with certainty that I have no preconceptions about this place, these people, or what exactly will happen tomorrow night.

The tour, short to begin with, has nearly run its course. Two shows distance us from a few days of time off. After Champaign, we drive to Kansas City to play a show in the city of the greatest Midwestern barbecue this country has to offer. I may have just offended the St. Louis readers. Send complaints to Kansas City.

A show since we have last spoken: an arena in north Charleston, a city that has been kind to us since the green days of touring in a fifteen passenger van, taking turns driving and sleeping on the sheet metal floor--your evening's "bed." Our largest show to date there, we played for thousands of girls (a nearly accurate statement: apparently, the women of Charleston outnumber the men five to one) that equated to one noisy, shrill audience. But, as fate would have it, the fans of this quaintly historical seaport are still supportive. We'll always enjoy returning to this city, if not for anything but the ocean and the friends we find on its beaches.

A formal statement of apologize for the British backside seen on the beach, for those who know what I write of. But not a very honest apology...

Days wander away as you rush through terminals and jet ways. Travel has taken today as its timid victim. We'll wake tomorrow in balmy Illinois.


April 25-ish.

We are not the symphony, as you might have imagined. But we did occupy its stage tonight in Cary, North Carolina, in the backwoods beside a pond. We could theoretically be just a few miles from town, but of course in the cocoon that is touring life we rarely see outside the few hundred yard radius of the venue. And we'll say that, tonight, that few hundred yard radius was green scattered with towering pines.

There was also a noise ordinance enforced tonight, perhaps one of the first we've encountered thus far. Set at a unoffensive ninety-two decibels, one could easily carry a conversation in front of the stage at a reasonable volume--that is to say, one wouldn't be horse at the end of the evening from trying to tell their date when they first heard that song, and how much cooler he or she should be for having done so.

But cynicism is an unfriendly companion: the show wasn't altogether bad. The crowd was attentive, yet excited, not unwilling to sing along when told and shout when felt led. You can generally distinguish the regions of the country we play to by the faint, barely audible dialect spun into the lyrical singalongs. Certain vowels are great to listen to when sung by six or seven thousand Southerners. Mostly, its a trait we Midwesterners are wholly jealous of, and find undeniably appealing.

We move south to the "other" Carolina, for a show in north Charleston. If luck has its way, we'll find our way to an old haunt: the Seabiscuit, on the Isle of Palms, the scene of earlier shows in a seemingly separate lifetime. Across an island driveway from the Windjammer lies the humble breakfast eatery that fills up late in the morning as the sleepy sun burnt lifestyle is slow to start its day. Hopefully we can steal some eggs and memories from the cozy spot before returning to our duties as "touring musicians, crew, etc." The life we lead.


April 24

Blistering sun and hot plastic; rippling white tents in a noonday breeze; a pattering of snares under the open air, a burst of rhythmic ammunition. Alabama in the spring time.

We have begun a short summer run, darting from Southern city to Southern city, with familiar faces around us and an aire of cool relaxation.

Only a few cities on this run. The Carolinas, and before that, Alabama. A shot to the middle of Illinois, and then, en route home, a layover in Kansas City. Seemingly easy, as the sun dips from its pendulum overhead and the lethargy of afternoon reigns over us. We could easily all lay down and siesta from two 'til ten.

The stage is slowly being assembled. A drumkit takes form. Amps flank the wings of the drum riser.

Our crew has grown. The familiar faces are still here. Roger sits shaded from the catering tent on his computer. Brian, the prince of the stage, issues edicts to local crew. Steve stares mutely across the production office, as some people try to "work." Perhaps he's still relishing in his recent adulation: our runner today called him a "cutie." Such is life.

The day soldiers on. We'll have more from this camp as our week progresses. Until then...


March 20.

Amidst the snow and cold furry of Alberta, we've survived one evening and are posed for the second. But, it should be noted, that as you travel south, as in most countries, the weather warms and the clouds diffuse into blue skies. Calgary, as it turns out, is much warmer than Edmonton. We're not sure if the temperatures were in any positive numbers.

But show turned out okay. Granted, it was our first show in a few weeks, and the rust was evident in places. But it was shed at different moments and by the end, we had remembered all our parts and the crowd seemingly hadn't noticed any of our mental lapses. A few crazy ones even stood around in the frigid cold for an autograph and a photo. We obliged them, mostly out of pity for their blueish colored flesh and chattering teeth.

Tonight, however, in Calgary, the night is staged to be a good show, a better show. The room has a strange, warehouse, industrial vibe. And the strange of odor of digesting wheat grass. That could be from the four crew members who went to the university's cafeteria and found the smoothie bar. Interesting...

Oh, and our bus. It's a 1992 Eagle, nicknamed (appropriately) "Desperado," after its infamous run with the Eagles for their reunion tour in '92. It definitely has not been upgraded or renovated since then, and perhaps hasn't been thoroughly cleaned since then either. But its charm lies in the clogged sinks and ripped upholstery, the double cassette deck and VHS player. There are strange cubbies and mysterious holes in the bunk walls, and a window in the bathroom. Its tour with the Fray will be short and bittersweet; we bid adieu to it tomorrow morning as we fly to Vancouver, per the highway-closing rock slide recently.

Yes, Canada has been fun so far.


February 23.

A beautiful day in Edinburgh. A quick sprint down the main city streets reveals the immeasurable history that has enveloped this part of the world. Gothic spires and cathedrals from nearly a millennium past, their stones faded to an almost macabre smoky black. One should really spend time here at some point in that lifetime...

A busy week or so since we last talked, mostly shows each night with the response growing better and better. The album was released here on Monday, and it seems that as time passes more people know the songs, as they need not import them or download it from the internet. Of course, who are we kidding? The internet is the revolution. Which will not be televised.

A "day off" a few days ago in the England's international mecca, London, to do the Jo Whiley show. Apparently a "big thing" here on the island, her listening audience is something of ten million people--give or take a few. If you're on the island here, and happened to miss the show, find it in the archives and give a listen for a certain "cover" song. For those of you who heard it, keep this one a secret: not everyday do we pull a stunt like that one.

For those of you elsewhere in the world, use your savvy web skills and search your hearts out.

We are halfway through this adventure as of this evening. Eight shows down, eight shows to go. Tonight's was certainly a stand out. Let it be know: the Scots are a loud bunch, but a great audience to perform for. We had a great time, with a record number of undergarments thrown onstage. Only appropriately, we dawned said undergarments on the head stocks of our guitars and played the final song with gusto!

Doncaster (where?) tomorrow, and from there we'll make our way further south in the country to finish in London. But we'll have a word before that.


February 17.

A country filled with gray layers, pinnacles of relic steeples and dilapidated industrial towers. For three pounds eighty pence, a train ride into Birmingham, a town dwarfed by London but substantial on its own. Busy on a Saturday afternoon: storefronts with slick shoes, denim and leather on sale.

We walked in search of food, away from the crowded glossy veneer of the mall filled with rats and other children. We found a place, downed a few beers and a steak--real food--and split, another twenty minute train ride to our quite, premodern city.

Inside the lobby is loud: a table of former athlete stars, talking loudly over pints of syrupy beer of a recent game. Goals scored, problems in aching bodies that once stood strong and lean. A quite couple entranced--or was it distracted?--by the television, at a nearly inaudible level, simply motion to keep the eye satisfied.

Can I borrow these chairs, mates? a stout man in a yellow oxford asks. We have no use for them. They are his, we say.

The day is still short. Most eyes opened today past noon; bodies crawled from bunks, still crusted with sleep and the shell of our cocoon the road spins each night.

The lobby has seen us all today. Internet, free of charge, is a band's Mecca. Everyone has visited our common table today, some people more migrant than others. A quick chat, the clatter of computer keys, then they must go. Out the automatic doors to a damp English eve.


February 16.

We're in England, cheers. We also haven't sleep--save a few hour naps by some of us--for many, many hours. We're zombie-eyed, walking sluggishly through the hallways to see if our time for soundcheck has come. Today we begin the 18-day tour de British Isles, with one stop taking us to Scotland.

Today we had the good fortune of having our dressing room set up in a bathroom; our table of food and wine backing a toilet stall. Three of us set up camp here already. Steve, the "Production Coordiantor" has his computer between two sinks.

We have a day off tomorrow, oddly one day after arriving--although with the lack of sleep it might be well worth it--and then continue through a grueling two weeks with very little time off. We'll have a few pints tomorrow, because it may be the last time we can see the pubs.

Speaking of pubs, the area of the country we're in, Norwich, is old, like most of this country, and a pub that the crew went to last night was "probably the oldest public house in Norwich," Adam and Eve, and they all had a pint to ward off jetlag--or induce it further into sleep.... That's all that story had to it, I apologize.

Maybe this the jetlag speaking. Jetlagggggggggggg.

Over and out.


February 2.

Amidst the frost and numbing winds, the blowing snow that pierces like pins, the futile extra jacket, we arrived home yesterday after finishing our tour in Utah to similar conditions. Utah was great to us. In fact, they we're crazy. At one point in the show for each of us, I believe we dazed off and watched the crowd-surfing mob spill over the barricade as over-zealous security guards threw their flailing hands into the crowd. It was a good time, albeit a crazy time.

This just in: Utah is crazy.

We had a whirlwind of a wrap-up to the tour; early flights, groggy crew members and farewell shows with our friends, Mute Math. In Starkville, just a few nights ago, we bid adieu to the four boys and their crew, in atypical fashion: no prank was had. Was it a prank that we didn't prank? Regardless, they felt it necessary to prank us, with banana suits, hot dog suits (we never did figure out that one) and a gorilla costume. It was a good time. At another point, during a guitar solo, their bassist Roy came out and played air guitar; the resemblance to David is uncanny. It was as if we saw a glimpse into an estranged relationship. Maybe they WERE brothers...

And before that, the large, arena-filled chaos of our Austin, Texas show, a city that has always been kind to us. It was a bit intimidating at first: the arena, which holds roughly 19,000 at full capacity, is used to house UT's basketball teams and other assorted SPORTING events. However, with a cut-down room to about 7,000, the warm crowd made us feel welcomed, as if the lights would dim and we'd forget the basketball hoops that had been in place not hours before. But that's Austin: a hell of a town.

Technically, we have one more show to wedge under our belts before we truly go "off tour." However, the show is in Vail, and we all get to ski because of it; more importantly, it's two hours away, not twenty, thus we're all in good spirits. We've played Vail only once before, at a club called 8150 (where the stage is floating and it gets a little crazy) on a snowy evening over a year ago. It was a good time, needless to say.

Big thanks to our crew that sacrificed most everything possible over these last three weeks to make the tour possible; the boys in Mute Math, for giving us a wickedly exciting show to see every night; the fan, of course--I suppose we wouldn't have a job without you all. We'll see you again sooner than later. We'll probably have a whole bunch of flashy crap with us too, so look out.

Take care now, you hear?


January 23.

Editor's Note:

It appears that in the last blog, there occured a misprinting. While we truly love and enjoy Atlanta, we still managed to use the wrong term for the area of the city we stayed at. While it sounds great as "Bucktown," it is in fact "Buckhead." Was this an act of humor, a quick quip at the reading public? Was this appopriate?

Neither of which we can fully answer, except to say that the author has been swiftly removed and will never been seen in these parts again.

Sincerely,

The editor.


January 20.

Apologies for the delays. It's not that we've been severely busy (although we could fein that excuse); I believe laziness mostly accounts for it.

The bus sits in Myrtle Beach, the first city of the tour with a clear, cloudless sky and pleasant weather--no offense to every other city, it's just that your weather wasn't anything to mention... We have a show this evening, at the House of Blue next to the Alligator Adventure that surely has been written about before. I won't spare too many sentences on it this go around, except to say that it is entertainment second to none--especially in these parts.

As far as what has happened since we last spoke, surely a few shows and a "day off" in Atlanta that had a radio lounge in the early evening. The Ohio University show--and the mayhem that insued--had happened before the last blog, but yet was never mentioned. Find out for yourself what happened--check YouTube, if you like. We played a beautiful room in Pittsburgh, a gorgeously restored early 20th-century theater. We then returned to one of our favorite spots, the NorVa in Norfolk, Virginia and played to a great crowd. We also got video of our driver Roger in the hottub backstage; the same hottub that Tommy Lee is said to frequent when he's in town. Needless to say, the rest of us stayed ten feet from that tub.

Day off in Atlanta, in Bucktown, the "Beverly Hills of Atlanta," someone coined. An area of the city completely inundated with money and slick, clean cars, it nonetheless had plenty of things to do and plenty of restaurants to chose from. If you're ever in the Atlanta area, pay a visit to Aria, a "sublime" (to borrow our waiter's word-of-the-evening) bistro in Bucktown.

It's midday: the alligators are getting hungry.


January 16.

Snow falls in Cleveland.

Waters rise in Miami?

We are, in fact, in Cleveland, Ohio, a cold and gray cityscape succumbing to light flurries. The theater is a grand room, a large chandelier high above the floor seating and a balcony tucked in the rear of the room. We'll play in about six hours, to a capacity crowd who can hopefully stand for a few hours. It's rought to play to a seated theater audience sometimes.

Last night we played Cincinnati, a show that dug itself out of the ground to become another fine evening. The city was quiet, a subdued parade in honor of Monday's namesake snaked through concrete blocks, supporters huddled under umbrellas and plastic tarps in muted support.

We had a day off in Cincinnati, another rain inundated day, where we sat around in low-lit hotel rooms and watched football games and took naps. Everyone needed some R&R, and a long dinner at Bistro JeanRo on Vine Street was a perfect nightcap. Good wine, good food.

We have a few more shows before a "day off," which already had events planned. A few more shows after that and a respit of two days at home.

A somber day, quieted by cold drafts and warm coffee. 'Til we speak again.


January 10, 2007.

So this is the new year...(bum!) I don't feel any different...(bum bum!)

We're back on tour, back on the bus, the bus with Beamon. And we're sitting in Waverly, Iowa at the moment, engines rumbling, ready to pull out and head to (let me check the calendar) Lafayette, Indiana.

Two shows down so far, the first being in Kenosha, Wisconsin. (If you're noticing a trend so far, it's that you can't find the cities on this tour on a regular map.) However, the shows have been fun if only for the reason that Mute Math is our opener, a wildly energetic, frenetic band that puts on a great live shows. We've seen two and each has amazed us. It's always humbling to tour with an opening band that's "cooler" than you.

But regardless, we think the shows have been fine so far. A few mistakes here and there, botched notes and bombed jokes--but cut us some slack, it's our first few shows after three weeks of blissful vacation at home, under three feet of perpetual snow drifts. Did someone say global warming?

Tonight was Wartburg College in Waverly, a small private school amidst a biting Iowa chill. Supposedly it's gonna snow here in the new few days.

We're all well. Ben shaved his head into a mohawk. He looks very much tougher than he actually is, although don't tell him we think so. Joe's scooter didn't make it on this leg, partly because he'd need a ski suit and goggles to ride in the weather we've been having. Other than that, the camp's quiet.

Talk to you soon.

Over and out.


{November 10} It's been so long since the last blog, I'm not even sure I know where to begin.

We'll say this: we've been home already, thought that seems like a near eternity past. We then played a few shows, beginning in New Orleans. Truth be told, there have been quite a few shows since we last spoke. I'll try my best to accurately and efficiently portray each one.

Before we went home for a few days, we played Orlando, to a raucous Halloween crowd, dressed in Spiderman suits. Check the website. Apparently there is a video. And those costumes were "tight," if you know what I mean.

Went home. Came back, then played New Orleans. A city with a reputation built on the faults of mankind. Interesting place to be an entertainer. Our time was cut short, however, in order to make our drive to Texas: we did get a trip to Cafe Du Monde under our belts, piles of powdered sugar and mediocre coffee.

Then over to Texas, a country in itself--which isn't inherently a good thing. Three shows there, with diminishing Texas-ness. We began in Dallas, which is as Texas and Texas gets. The show was fine, in a large sterile place called the Will Rogers. Houston followed, in a strange arena-theater hybrid with Verizon attached to it. Better show, better crowd--with no offense to Dallas. Then on to Austin, at the historic Stubb's BBQ, a wonderfully laid back outdoor show in the most laid back (read: coolest) city in Texas.

Last night, then, after a day of driving and dodging the New Mexican border control, we played at Centennial Hall on the campus of the University of Arizona to a beautiful collegiate crowd that, frankly, a few on the crew couldn't keep their eyes off of. Last night's show was fun and rowdy, a whole bunch of kids tired of studying and ready for some music and a break from Organic Chem. We met some great people after the show, inviting everyone that was waiting by the bus for autographs and pictures to Jimmy John's. What a glorious thing to mob a sandwich shop at 11 at night with 150 starry-eyed kids and five burly security guards following us. Thanks, too, to Froth Coffee. Mighty good espresso for the end of the evening.

On to Phoenix. Sun-Devil country: some of us are more proud than others.


{October 29} Our Nation's capital. Our country, 'tis of thee. And damn good Mexican food.

We played last night at Constitution Hall, to a sold out room of 3700 people. Last night included a special MVP segment (which, of course, is not a long-running tradition--Isaac started it three shows ago, in case you see it in a town near you) featuring Joe's daughter, Elise. She was cute and had a song of her own prepared, which had three simple words to it, but much time was spent I'm sure preparing and perfecting it. It was less of a song, more of a chant. Maybe she was channeling the old Gregorian monks. Maybe she didn't know more words to write...

Tomorrow we head to Atlanta for a show at a great room, the Tabernacle. We've only opened for Ben Folds in that room before, and it's exciting to think of our own show there. Beside that, we're in the south, the land of grits and sweet potato fries and ribs and stuff. Oh, can't wait. Need some southern cookin'!

I'm not exactly sure if we played any shows from when we last talked. Probably some shows in New York, which went well if you were wondering. Probably Good Morning America, which was well early in the morning. Probably a show in Philly, at the Electric Factory, that happened to also be a great show. And probably a total of at least 35 cheesesteaks (that's Ben's estimate) between everyone on the crew. Mark let us down and came under his previous record of 5 with only 4 a few days ago. It was rough to watch. He looked nervous under pressure. He hadn't trained. Oh well. We move on.

To Atlanta. We'll talk soon.


{October 25} Kids everywhere on our bus! In and out of the hallways, jumping from bunk to bunk, catching themselves in the mirrors overhead and almost falling over in awe. Kids eating other kids!

We're en route from Boston to the Big Apple, from Beantown to the Big Time. We had a good time here in Boston. We brought out our families for a few days, had a day off to wander around in the oldest places in our country. The Boston Common's been around since 1654. I didn't know this country had as much history. It's all relative: when we were landing on our shores for the first time, Japan and the rest of civilized Europe was cloning sheep or something like that. But still...

Show in Boston at the Orpheum: a success! Isaac pulled off the "I don't-wanna-play-with-my-guitar-plugged-in" thing again, and it was equally successful as it's ever been. Now it's down the highway to our nation's largest, tastiest city, where we will play two nights at the Hammerstein Ballroom, do a performance on Good Morning America, and all around be run ragged for a few days--such is life in New York.

The tour, with the completion of the two dates ahead of us, will be halfway over. Intermission, if you will, only that's figurative of course--there will be no breaks for another week or so. Then we'll meander across the country for a swing up the west coast and into the Northwest (the greatest part of the country, but I can't say that).

Talk to you later.


{October 21}

Nigel the bulldog

Toronto, the city of Brotherly Love.

Ontario, the Sunshine Province.

The Kool Haus: so cool it's spelled with a "k." And we're about to play it; I guess this would be Saturday, a gloomy drizzly day in Toronto. We're on the edge of the downtown, near the water in a warehouse district that's been converted into a string of nightclubs and this concert venue...that looks like an oversized nightclub. It might moonlight as a nightclub. Get it?

The only other thing to speak of was our show in Detroit, which featured rival theaters, James Blunt, a bulldog named Nigel, and pinball. We were playing the State Theater, the smaller cousin of the Fox Theater next door. James Blunt was playing the same night. And while we're on the subject, a Canadian the other day called the blog out on referencing quite often "James Blunt." James Blunt James Blunt James Blunt James Blunt James Blunt.

Where was I: oh, Detroit. The promoter of both, a young hip woman in a striped shirt named Codi (with whom half our crew fell in love) had a bulldog (with whom everyone fell in love) named Nigel, who made a guest appearance during encore. He got a little scared, barked a little, a ran around for a few minutes before leaving to a roaring applause. And the show was good, all in all. Detroit's good to us.

Now we're getting ready to sound check. This venue is as cold as an ice box. I'm gonna serve my fingers medium-rare pretty soon.


{October 18} So we're an arena rock band now. Bring out the American flags and working class and everything you have that's tight and leather.

We finished a show at the DeltaPlex, a small arena in Grand Rapids, MI; the show, mind you, included an ice sculpture, crowd-surfing, bras on stage, and a mockingly bad arena rock guitar solo in the middle of "Dead Wrong." After tonight, we'll either denounce arena rocks shows forever or wholly endorse them. We're not entirely sure yet.

But before tonight, we played two sold-out shows at the Aragon Ballroom, a venue we heard earned the nickname the "Scaragon Brawlroom." It's a strangely Middle Ages-themed venue with turrets, a celestial ceiling with constellations, and witches being burned at the stake. I might have embellished that last part. But both were good shows, loud and full of people, people, people. We mentioned the Bears and we had to plug our ears there was so much clamor. Chicago folk are always good to us. The past few nights were no different.

Tomorrow we're off to Detroit, the scene of one of our previously loudest-shows-ever-recorded. We all remember it, the St. Andrews. Those people were NUTS. So we'll see if the tradition continues.

Then we'll head up north later this week, to the Great White North, for a day and a day in Toronto. Again, another good place to visit and play a show. Good ol' Canadians.

We're not sure where that ice sculpture ended up. It's probably gone, diffused into the rain puddles outside. But it had a grand life. Check MySpace or YouTube or whatever-the-hell-other-website you can find.

Happy birthday Linz.


{October 13} Dear readers,

It's Friday, the first leg of this fall tour is coming to a close. We'll finish tonight at the Murat Theater, the grand seated room in this massive complex in Indianapolis. But before that, a tour of the Indianapolis Speedway and a meet and greet or two.

We've done a lot since we last talked. We played our show in Omaha, which I last spoke of, as well as a show in Kansas City, St. Louis, and Nashville. All have gone splendidly. The show in Kansas City was at the Uptown Theater, an ornate, circus-like room with bright colors and a big ol' balcony. It was a fun show too, if I remember. But I usually don't remember well... St. Louis has become a special city for us; our relationship with Colin's family has become a marked reason to enjoy this city, regardless of how much fun it would be normally. The show went well, as could be expected from the Pageant Theater, and of course we continued the tradition of bowling at the Pin-Up Bowl after the show. Brian and Joe are the only really contenders. I take that back: Joel, our lighting technician, gave us all a good show.

If you've never been to the Ryman Auditorium (hell, if you haven't even heard of it), at least go the website and see the history this place has on its sleeves. Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley. It has rooms dedicated to country music legends, because they all PLAYED there. It's a wonderfully acoustic room--you could go without a sound system, if you wanted. And Isaac did: for encore, he pulled from the mic and unplugged his guitar and sang to the crowd sans amplification. We learned it was a Ryman tradition later on, the likes of Jeff Tweedy and Sufjan Stevens doing the same stunt, but it worked none-the-less. It was a great show; Nashville's a great place for music.

Now we're in Indianapolis, a great place for...race cars? Music, perhaps, as well. We'll see tonight. Then we'll fly home for a few days, visit our families, and come back to Chicago to rock and roll.

But a special thanks is due to Aqualung. This has been a band that we, as a band, have always enjoyed, and have secretly always wanted to play with. Their music is beautiful. And their British! Why not? But we have been fortunate enough to have them on this leg of the tour with us, and have enjoyed their set every night we can see it. These boys better go far. If they don't, something's wrong with this system--but we won't get into that. Fare thee well, Aqua boys.


{October 9} The start of another week. "It's just another manic Monday."

We are in Omaha, Nebraska at the moment, in the middle of an overcast afternoon with drab gray skies and nipping temperatures. We're setting up camp at the Sokol Auditorium, a venue we've played a few times before. It's an interesting place--still a gymnasium at times, it's now a two level music venue with the next great thing playing downstairs (read: all underground Omaha ventures, and other indie favorites) and a bigger room for "other bands." We're in that category, so it seems. But our crew guys saw Why last night downstairs and are still glowing.

We played the Eagles Ballroom since we last talked, in Milwaukee, and then stuck around in Milwaukee for a day off and caught a bit of the Ben Kweller in the ground level Rave. A good friend of ours who toured with the Damnwells for a short while took up the aux. position in Kweller's band, and sounded great. Way to go, Jay.

A string of show's coming up. We'll hit a few breadbasket venues, swing over to Nashville for the old Grand Ole Opry. Play in Indy, come home for a weekend.

Three shows under the belt. Tour's starting off right. Let's hope it stays that way.


{October 7} Oh crap.

I've forgotten this poor blog. It's suffered. It's like an abandoned puppy, battered and homeless, begging with its puppy dog eyes at the kennel for some poor soul to pity its poor soul.

Well, fine, we adopted it. We got suckered by the girl next to us, whispering: "Oh, come on, it needs a home. It's just gonna be put to sleep if you don't take it home..."

So: we're in Milwaukee, parked outside the Rave, for our third appearance here, but our first in the legendary, genuinely intimidating Eagles Ballroom, a grand oval room, the scene of glorious fight nights eighty years ago. And now we're playing it. Fate turns funny directions sometimes.

But before this evening, we've played a few great shows at a few great venues. First on the agenda, the Northrop Auditorium on the campus of U of M (Minnesota) in Dinkytown, a great little eclectic college neighborhood of Minneapolis. Then we played the Orpheum in Madison, Wisconsin, the home of Wisconsin's university. So, college towns and beer and loud fans. It's been fun.

Before these shows, of course, was our night at Red Rocks Amphitheater back home. There is truly nothing to say about this evening save the fact that it was totally surreal, and we may not understand what we've done for months to come. We've grown up idolizing Red Rocks. Then we played it. Wild.

We've got a few more shows to play before we go home for a few days, continue this adventure in Chicago. But I promise we'll write before that, update you, give this poor puppy a bowl of food. And some good ol' TLC.


{July 30} We're going for record time between blog entries. What was this, nine days? Ouch.

But it's fitting, I suppose, because these days have been hectic. We just finished a three-night stand at the House of Blues in Chicago, each show with a wonderfully exuberant crowd and a uniqueness (read: David's shirt came off the last night...again...). And of course a trip to Chicago isn't complete without a handful of other things to do: radio, promotion, meet and greets, the like. But we suck it up and take it, because we had three great shows. More importantly, we have a much needed month off now.

And of course, before all this, we played a show in San Diego, Phoenix, and Tulsa, with a stop in St. Louis for some radio promo stuff. All this in nine days. We had a full week. Or a full sixteen months, however you'd like to look at it.

Our second night in Chicago was our final night with Augustana, our opener for a month, labelmates, and friends. There were extraordinary to be with, adding a little bit of rock and roll to the tour, beating around in their 15-passenger van (and don't we remember those days) with notes and drawings scribbled on all sides of their trailer. Hopefully it's only a matter of time before they're taunting their opener, retreating to a bus, with only memories of that van. We wish them all of the best and hopefully will see them again along the way.

In other news: Phoenix was hotter than hell itself, the seventh circle, the core of earth, etc. Tulsa had one of the wickedest rooms yet, an old garage for fixin' Model Ts and a music ballroom since 1924. St. Louis had a pool with Olympic diving platforms, enough said. And San Diego...it was pretty, like San Diego always is.

That's it. We're officially on break now, like a summer break after two years of schooling. When we return, we'll be full of life, energy, excitement, and the blog will be up-to-date.


{July 21} I don't even know when the last blog was. Does anyone any more? I feel that this blog has suffered greatly recently. It ranks in importance with saving animals and the environment and stuff, at least with this current administration.

Look, the blog is political now!

We're in LA now, having played two shows at the House of Blues on Sunset. The first was a good show--we've had luck here in LA, giving some good performances in a ciy notorious for screwing artists up. Our second show, however, was better, with a big smack of surprise for our fans in the encore. The one and only John Mayer came and played a few songs with us, turning "Look After You" into a kick-ass blues number, his fingers burning the fretboard and his guitar singing through the speakers. It was a lot of fun. We almost sat back and listened, nearly forgetting to play. He's John Mayer for a reason--he's a master of the guitar.

But I have a feeling that we've played a few more shows since we last spoke, perhaps Portland, San Francisco, Sacramento, not really sure. But in that order, we had a good show, a great show, and a show. It's hard to come off the Fillmore. It's the Fillmore! There were too many posters to count on the walls, any artist you could think of that has had any impact on the last forty years of popular music. Needless to say, our hearts skipped a few beats walking in that place. But the greatest success was the show, a show that lived up to expectations for us and the fans--we think. We had a high to come off that show...

Now we have a day off in here in the LA, the Windy City.

We might have a pool party, we might do drugs; what happens in LA stays in LA, right? Is that how it goes?

In all seriousness kids, drugs are bad.

Only a small dose of shows left on this tour: San Diego, Phoenix, Tulsa, Chicago, home. This has been a fun tour so far, and Augustana have been greats kids to spend evenings with.

That's all for now.


{July 14} Another beautiful day in Seattle. We're getting spoiled; we know it's really not this nice here. We know it's cloudy and gray and vaguely depressing. But we haven't seen it. It's a beautiful day today, a lovely day for a concert.

Last night we played Spokane again, complete with family for both Joe and Dave and a day off to boot. The venue: the Big Easy. An early show, one for all ages, with time to get the parents back in bed. And the show was fun, a rowdy good time for the 1400-or-so people in attendance. A sold-out show, with about twice as many people as Vancouver the night before.

But Vancouver is a lovely city, a cosmopolitan wash of sand-colored buildings. Inlets with forests of pine trees and bald eagles. Watch the water long enough and you'll see a few planes take off from the currents.

Those are the scariest planes on the planet.

The show in Vancouver was our first show in British Columbia, at a place called the Croatian Cultural Center--with no visible signs of Croatian anything, just a name. A name and a fairly sterile room to play music in. But it didn't matter much; we played to the 800 people that came, shy of a sell-out, like we would to anyone else. And hopefully those Canadian folk enjoyed it.

But Seattle tonight; the Showbox, a venue we've heard of in great regard and never played. It's rock and roll, through and through, and hopefully we'll give a good rock show in a few hours.

We'll go down the coast a ways, play to some Californians in borrowed BMWs, move on inland, and somewhere end up in Chicago. This tour's gonna be good.


{July 9} A salty must rushes through an opened window; a blast of a car horn. The squirm and grind of taxi brakes; the muffled dialogue of television next door.

Tour has begun again; we find ourselves in Manhattan, as a few of us come early before our television appearance.

While two others are breathing a more pure air, a relaxed and carefree breeze. Home, sleeping on familiar sheets next to familiar bodies.

A duo of outdoor shows, sweaty and exuberantly energetic, the grounds left littered post-show with souvenirs of smiles and slurred words.

The midwest; both a northern, icy land and musty wetland. Two cities, built in pragmatism and fundamental realism. Industrial stability.

Monday. Monday, television after television after television. Fortunately Sunday comes before Monday.

Representing the final leg of summer touring, July: three cheers for beer, old friends, beer, nostalgia, beer.

More

to

come.

Buenos noches, senors e senoras.


{June 14} Time for another blog.

Do duh do duh do.

Perhaps, in a haiku:

"Days in Toronto,
Maple leafs and polite faces:
We love Canada!"

We just played Pontiac (which is just a suburb of Detroit) at a place called Clutch Cargo's (which was just a church at one point) for some fans (who are just your average folk) who screamed a lot.

Another poem:

"We are tired.
Our feet stained with walking
Our lips split from talking.
We are worn,
Like bald tires and
Baseball caps."

Tomorrow we're in Cleveland and we'll visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, followed by some radio stations (or perhaps they'll visit us) and then a show.

And as a final farewell: we'll try to convince Brian to eat some meat tonight, as mostly a science experiment to see exactly what happens to him a few hours later...


{June 9} It's about time, right?

Regardless, we're in Syracuse, New York, at a hotel on a day off. And do this point, we've played a few shows and been to a few cities we'd never seen before. Cities like Cincinnati, Columbus, and tomorrow, Syracuse. Well, apparently Rod's been to Syracuse--went to school here--but isn't he just the worldly traveler now? Big shot.

The tour started on a sunny, warm day in Indianapolis, at the Egyptian Room at the Murat Theater, a sprawling complex with four rooms virtually next door to one of the best indie music shops we've seen (a bold claim, I know). Brian and Jimmy stocked up, coming back with goodie bags and giveaways because they bought so much. And the show went well, our first in this tour with Brandi Carlisle supporting us. She's great, has a wonderful voice and great crew of musicians backing her. And I believe she's doing Conan O'Brian tonight; if you read this in time, turn on the TV!

The next night was Cincinnati, at a place called Bogart's--a slightly dirty club with a great rock vibe to it. I think that show went well. The shows, at even three played, begin to blur together. What was last night was the night before, and that night prior to that has all but vanished. Oh well, right? No offense, listening public, but we're pulling some long days...

But we do remember last night--if we didn't, we'd probably all need to see doctors for one cure or another. Across the street from the campus of OSU (BUCKEYES!), the Newport Music Hall attracted listeners from far and near (and by that I mean, stumbling from the frat house five doors up the street). But of course, later that night the REAL party started as the 2006 Pub Crawl got into full swing, hundreds of sadly stumbling college kids making their way to that "neighborhood bar down the street a few blocks." Lawns shimmered in emptied beer bottles, a glass garden. O College!

And a day off, much needed. Regain some composure, muster some strength, and ready ourselves to play some more shows. Come out, why don't you! Come all ye to the Fray!


{June 4} A new blog, to tide you dear readers over, written by Mr. Rod Blackhurst IV himself.

"Given the number of airports that we see, one might be under the next begins to resemble the last, and vice versa. Au contraire mon frere, and in the defense of a good airport, there are always seem to be a few that rise above the rest.

In order to grade an airport you must take into account several important factors, like accessibility, how close are terminals to each other (every try running one of those underground tunnels at O'Hare), with a place like the Minneapolis St. Paul airport and its nifty in-terminal monorail system, which makes your trip between connecting flights quick and efficient. Also of importance are the number of over-priced single serving eateries. Nothing like paying $10 for a mangled burger that has been sitting beneath the heat lamp for 2 hours in the Fort Lauderdale airport. But then find the Philadelphia airport where you can get an authentic cheese steak and thus have a rather Philly experience without ever having to leave the airport. Other important airport grading factors are the people watching factor; good seating areas in busy traffic patterns where you can watch the suits go by, talking to cables that hang from ears, all engaged in seemingly non-existent or single sided conversations. Good news stands; where you can read every trashy magazine in the world without ever having to pay. I've been known to remember my page in the latest issue of US Weekly so that when I hit the next airport I can pick up where I've left off.

Take this past week. Played a show last Saturday in Boston, got back home that night. Take care of yourself chez yourself for a few days and then find yourself on a 6:30 AM flight to Austin, TX Saturday morning. You go to bed at 1 AM and have a lobby call at 4:50AM for your flight home Sunday, then you hop back on a flight Monday afternoon for the road. I know that you've seen it all before.

Short of frequenting many of the airports in this country we also get to see more truck stops than the average traveler (save the long distance truck drivers). It becomes hard to keep track of the number of times you run into other bands in truck stops, either using the restroom, playing Buck Hunter in the arcade, or still crashed out on their bus. These are the lives of road warriors. It's those moments, where you cross paths with fellow warriors, that you find camaraderie and "family" in your chosen profession.

In Austin we ran into Dustin, who was in the band the Riddlin Kids, and then spent the night with James Blunt and his right hand piano playing man (and best dancer ever) Paul Beardy. Over the course of the past month we played two shows with James, in Hollywood, FL, and Boston, and Joe ran into Paul in NYC, randomly. See, those of us, who do what we do, just seem to understand one another, and so over a few pints and some talk, we share our common existence.

Next time you travel, keep your eyes out for me. I'll be keeping my eyes out for you."


{June 1} This will be an interim blog. Not that we needed, but mostly that we felt you might enjoy it. And we didn't exactly wrap up the last tour.

So, this is how it ended: Earthfest 2006, Boston MA, May 27. It was a muggy day, sticky skin and stretched out t-shirts. It rained, then it stopped, then it rained again. And fortunately, for our set, it wasn't raining. It was one of the biggest crowds (the biggest?) we've ever played to, an estimated 50-60,000 people attending this free music and lifestyle festival. It was fun and intimidating and scary and entertaining all at the same time, and hopefully it was all that for everyone there too.

And now we've been enjoying a week off, ending soon however at a beach party in Austin, Texas with our good friend James Blunt and others. Come to think of it, we've been seeing James a lot of places these days. He was at Earthfest. He was in Hollywood, Florida. I saw him on the Today Show, but we weren't there. And I wasn't at the Today Show. Because I don't watch the Today Show.

We'll probably see all y'all soon enough, as time has a habit of flying by when we're on the road. If you've read these blogs, come say hi. If you haven't, you're out of the loop and everyone who comes and talks to us will look so cool and you'll want to know how to be so cool and no one will tell you, so there.

So, keep reading.


{May 26} A lot has happened since we last talked. It's raining in Providence, gray on gray with umbrellas in hand. We've also played a few shows, worked too much in New York, and had a great dinner/birthday party last night for Joe and Isaac.

But first, the shows. We played a great show to a great crowd at a great venue (read: a few days ago at the Electric Factory in Philadelphia). We've always loved that venue, since the first (and wait, yes, only) time we played there, a half year ago opening for Ben Folds. And hear this: a rumor's spreading that a recording might surface of that show, at some point.

We also might have played Norfolk, VA between then and now--I can't truthfully remember. But I do remember that venue being great and having the largest (and first) backstage hot tub we've ever seen. Maybe when you get "bigger" you see more hot tubs. Or maybe we just need to become rock stars. Someday, I suppose.

Then comes New York. There are always things to do, and too much of them. It goes like this: when we have an hour, we have three things to do. If an hour frees up, somehow three more things are scheduled. But complaining gets nowhere, of course, because this is the indisputable curse of New York: everything happens there, so we've got everything to do. Know what I'm saying? But, on Tuesday, we played at Webster Hall--a wonderful room--to a sold-out house of loudly singing fans and it was a lot of fun. And no pressure, of course.

Wednesday was work followed by work followed by a radio show followed by the best Italian food in New York.

Thursday, then, was Joe's birthday, and the day of celebration at our big boss' house, a beautiful estate in Connecticut. We had plenty of homemade Italian food, good Italian wine, some cigars, and some good relaxing. It was a nice cap to the New York madness, a respite before the tour ends.

And end it will soon: we play in Providence tonight, at Lupo's, and then in Boston tomorrow for Earthfest. Then we come home. Thank the Lord.


{May 20} A couple days off, a show in Baltimore. A few too many Polish hot dogs, and not enough of Grandpa Wysocki's jokes. Slightly offensive? Maybe, but you can't help but laugh when you hear them.

Ben's uncle allowed us to stay the evening at his place, grilling for us and serving us cake after cake after cake. Then we hung out, listened to Grandpa, and retreated back to our bus. It's a home away from home; we can't even take a free bed when it's offered. We watched some movies. We acted like normal folk.

But we couldn't get used to that, because this evening we had a show in Baltimore. Baltimore is hard and gritty, the sidewalks cracked and suspicious glances thrown through cracked windows. It has an entirely different feeling--and an amazing aquarium, or so I've been told. The line was too long and it cost $25 for a single ticket, so we all bagged the idea. Instead we found the nearest Barnes & Noble, a truly unique Baltimore experience.

But the show was good and loud, with plenty of screaming people "singing" along to the songs. Perhaps at some point we should make an announcement prior to the show, stating that if singing is your fancy, we fancy you sing on pitch. No, that's mean. But it is funny. "HOW TO SAVE A LIFE..." That's how it sounds, as if the entire concert is sung in capital letters.

We enjoyed it, and look forward to Philly tomorrow. Cheese steaks!


{May 18} Well, Washington DC is cool.

In other news, we have a guest editorial today by our budding filmmaker/merch guy Rod Blackhurst:

"Let me count the ways I love you. Thursday morning. 6AM headed northbound. And we get to watch the Damnwells play tonight. Are they really superhuman? Do they ever really mess up? Yes to the former and no to the latter. The night before in Norfolk they showed up 30 minutes before doors having missed their wake up call in Myrtle Beach, only to add insult to injury by receiving a speeding ticket, took the stage, rocked like it wasn't a free world, and blew the roof of the joint. Always enjoyable to watch those cats. The 9:30 Club was a reunion of sorts for the Fray and the Damnwells, returning to the scene of their first crime together, a months ago. Did I tell you how much I love you?

Cut to Int. All Access Tour Bus - Bethesda Maryland - Early AM

7:30. Radio show. 2 acoustics, 2 vocals, 2 shakers, 1 set of keys and 4 players. Top it off with a trip to Whole Foods with mountains of unpasteurized French cheese, baguettes, blueberries, fresh cherries, and fig preserves.

Perhaps we'll meet. Maybe even make an acquaintance. You might see me with some cameras or with some tubs of t-shirts. But come say hi. My bark is nonexistent."

Thank you Rod. And thank you, dear readers.


{May 15} We may have just played the coolest venue in the world. Not, the "best," or the "grandest," or certainly the "biggest," simply the coolest. A little background for you. The venue's name is the Sloss Furnace, and it a 100+ year old shed in a steel mill compound, owned by a man named Sloss that functioned and made American steel until the 1970s when it was shut down. It is beautiful rusted and eery, massive cylinders and piping of worn steel and caverns of creepy slime and darkness. Not enough pictures to do this venue justice.

And the show went well, really well, for something like 2500 people. And they all screamed and yelled and sang along with every word.

Yesterday we had an evening off in Nashville, where we all decided to blow our saved per diem and have a good dinner with a good friend of Steve. We came back to the bus, watched a flick, had some scotch, and went to bed. It was a much needed day of rest (the earlier part of the day was spent at the bus leasing offices, All Access Coach Leasing, getting a new trailer and spitting in the dirt with a four year-old.

Now we're high-tailing it to Myrtle Beach, where Joe and Jimmy are set for an eleven o'clock tee time at some golf course. No one else really cares, because no one really plays golf (or even knows how to hold a club, for that matter) so the rest of the bunch will find something to do, perhaps involving alligators and leftover deli meat. Nice.

Until the the next time, dear readers. Adios.


{May 12} Okay, okay. Here goes the new blog. Truth be told, this is a little late coming. We've actually played a few shows by now, but all of them have had their downfalls (technically, mentally, and once the piano tuner didn't show), so tonight, being a rousing good time opening for none other than, Hootie and Blowfish, we thought we'd write and tell you about it.

First of all, we played something called Taste Addison, in the town of...yes, Addison, Texas, to a crowd of some might say 10,000. Rough estimates, though. And it was a food festival, with lots of tents and turkey legs and beer and people with grease on their fingers. Where we're from, it's called Taste of Colorado, and these events are usually accompanied by bands of all sorts, and tonight, it was us and Hootie. Hootie. Yeah, you read right.

But we played well, with no technical blunders or mishaps, and the crowd dug it. And we got mobbed by people as we tried to weave our way toward turkey legs. You know, the big limbs of smoked meat; you feel like a caveman, gnawing and tearing and ripping and growling. I growled anyway.

But let's see: to this point, we've played a show in Minneapolis and a show in Dallas, a private show in Las Vegas and an opening gig for our man James Blunt in Hollywood, Florida. James is a good guy, even though he is the most quoted man in our bus history. "You're Beautiful..." Steve Clark, "you're beautiful..."

Tomorrow we're in Houston, staying in big ol' Texas. We've got a show in a room we've played before, on Valentine's evening actually. The city where we asked some folks to come on stage, three boys to impress a dateless girl, and we picked a winner and had them sit onstage while we "serenaded" them. Y'all remember that? Maybe not, but we do, and we hope the magic is still there...

Talk to you later, dawgs.


{April 13} Another under our belts. We've come home again. Isn't that just sweeeeet?

We played a show in Omaha last night, to a large, raucous crowd of 1600 or so. We played "a little longer than normal" because this was our final show. Rumors have begun to circulate that a certain "song" that we may or may not have finished the show with is on our set list all the time. Alas, that is not true. We are tired of the song. It lost its luster months ago. Dare I say

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