Home sweet home. The Highway Robbers Illinois tour wrapped up nice and snug like a big Christmas present under the tree. Along the way I jotted down notes on a Southwest Airlines barf bag. Hope this doesn't make anyone too queazy.
The shows for the second week:
The Firkin is a lovely place up in Libertyville. Great food, friendly folks, lovely decor from Vietnam, and they like us there. A temporarily friendly woman took a shine to our bass lad supreme Earl, but regrettably she had to be carried out by three people after slurping down way too much sauce. Another love-sick Highway Robbers casualty. Afterwards we went to some completely random bar where we hung out with the guitar player for Audioslave, who just happened to have grown up down the street. Mighty friendly dude.
Houston, we have a problem. Lovell's was a ton of fun. Owner Jay Lovell is the son of Jim Lovell, the commander of ill-fated Apollo 13, portrayed by Tom Hanks in the fantastic movie of the same name. Lovely gregarious fellow. The whole huge place is essentially a shrine to NASA and all things related, perhaps just short of being a museum. The pictures on the wall and artifacts in display cases all over were a rare treat to observe. How often does one get to see a moon rock right up close? An ill-clad woman with a voice like a rusty Cuisinart full of moon rocks told me I was cute and forced a glass of wine on me. Picture Dame Edna with a horse-choking hangover. Two hundred people in the place, and we were roundly ignored by all but five folks who just really needed to dance. It's a good thing we know a Johnny Cash tune or two.
Flatlanders was a fat show. We were competing with the last game of the World Series being projected above our heads on a gigantic TV screen. The Cards wrapped it up just before our second set. Good food, good sound, nice folks, cute bartenders.
DA BUS!!! Our last show was in the RV parking lot at Soldier Field for the Bears v. 49ers game, a huge tailgate party sponsored by the good folks who drive Da Bus. I've never in my life seen so many bbqs in one place. Just recently I was at the 49er vs. Seachickens game, and was soundly dismayed at the general quality of 9er fans' tailgates. I guess midwesterners just know how. It certainly shows in the bulbous waistlines, but they know how.
The limo took us to the airport the next day, we flew home, and I just can't wait to do it all again.
A couple fun stories...
Keith Luce, our drummer on this trip, is a remarkable fellow. Not only is he a fabulous drummer and a hell of a nice guy, he also holds the record for being the youngest sous chef ever to have worked at The White House. He was there for the first Clinton administration. As you might well imagine, he spun some wonderful tales.
Obviously it is no rare thing to have celebrities of every stripe visiting The White House. One day, the kitchen was preparing for a big state dinner, all stops pulled. Keith and his crew were, in his words, "heads down," stressing and fuming and getting it all together. Out of the blue, like a rocket-propelled ice pick through the cochlea, rang an eerily familiar voice at the top of its lungs; "HOOOOWW'SS EVEREEEEEBODY DOOOOOINGGG?????" Steve Perry, the erstwhile singer for Journey, decided to poke his head into the White House kitchen door to give the staff a much-needed pep talk, as if it was 1984 at Madison Square Garden. Kind of makes you want to re-evaluate simultaneously the definitions of 'celebrity' and 'punk-ass.'
Keith also cooked up a storm for the Senator's Spouse's Luncheon at The White House. Not sure of the year. But he regaled us with a tale from that day which just solidified my opinion of Washington and those populating it. So there was young Keith, minding his station, when he spied a very well-known Republican senator, three big fat sheets to the wind, urinating on the White House lawn. Mortified, he called over his Secret Service buddy and apprised him of the potentially explosive situation. The officer went up to the inebriated senator, told him to zip it up, and escorted him out of view before too much PR damage had been done. Problem solved? Not so fast. Half an hour later, Senator Pissoir is at it again, the only thing keeping him from falling forward being the equal and opposite reaction of his watering some poor little tree abutting the champagne bar. Try as I might, I was not able to get his name, which I'm sure is best for all involved.
A few lessons learned...
Always, ALWAYS, listen to lots of Frank Zappa in the van. That's just good advice in general, but especially for band road trips. Not only is he a laugh riot and a rigorous musical educator, he makes the long tedious drives go a hell of a lot faster. 'Joe's Garage,' 'You Are What You Is,' 'Sheik Yerbouti,' 'Apostrophe/Overnite Sensation' are my picks.
Enjoy the company of your bandmates to the fullest extent possible, but make plenty of time for solitude.
Take lots of pictures.
During the inevitable killer downtime, get some exercise. Don't spud out. Movies on the couch are good, but five in a row just means you're being a lazy sot and nothing more.
Don't eat garbage. NEVER eat at Taco Bell. Whenever possible, cook for yourself and your bandmates. Leafy greens are your best friend.
When tipsy middle-aged women insist on showing you what they perceive to be the latest high fashion in pantyhose, don't fight it. The horror of it all will be over that much faster that way.
Above all else, enjoy life on the road as a traveling musician. Fleabag motels aside, remember you're damn lucky to be able to do it.
We're going back for just two shows next week, so I might jot down a note or two for your entertainment. Looks like we're going to Mexico for a handful of shows next year too, so stay tuned for that. Meanwhile, my new CD is finally here, and it would be my honor and privilege to sell you a copy. Go to poisontreerecords.com or myspace.com/ericfriedmann for more info.
Posted by eric at December 3, 2006 02:03 PM