now that i’ve got your attention,
BELLA’S BARTOK NAKED HOT TUB PARTY!
seriously. but we’ll get to that.
so on the seventh day, god told us to rest. but then we set off on tour leg part deux to pittsfield, ma, to a place called dottie’s coffee lounge. sounds unassuming, right? sounds like the sort of place where people wouldn’t pack the house and crowd surf and drink way too much beer and have an impromptu mid-set strip show, right?
it was the very first performance at this space, ever, and all that stuff happened, and more. and no, the impromptu strip show did not feature anyone terribly good-looking, or even moderately attractive, or even really palatable to the human eye at all. it was me. what, come on! it was too hot! (the temperature, i mean). i did get to do that thing where you swing a tie around over your head and then toss it all smooth-like toward an adoring lady-fan. that’s a thing, right? whatever, the point is that i have a backup job at chippendale’s lined up when bella’s bartok inevitably CRASHES AND BURNS from too-much-good-times poisoning.
the highlight of this night, though, was in fact not the stripping at all. it was the release of our good friend gabriel squailia’s new novel dead boys. he was kind enough to let us improvise some accompaniment to his reading, and… well, i think we should be touring with him, as his backup band. check this shit out:
the next night saw us in brattleboro, vt, at a space called the future, run by the future collective community organizing group, with a lady called wooly mar (think: if bjork were happy for once and had a baby with buke and gase!) and a little man called the suitcase junket (think: if asher and a tuvan throat singer had a baby with… a suitcase). the show was wonderful, and we were lucky enough to join the suitcase junket for a rousing five-part harmony on the tune everybody else (we worked out the harmony in the van, on the way there). that song’s catchy as fuck, and now it’s stuck in my head because i thought about it. thanks a lot, OBAMA… i mean, BLOG. geez.
again, the show was wonderful, but i regret to impart that what we did after the show far eclipsed any music that may or may not have happened: max disobey (who drew that striking rendition of my impeccable visage in the last post) was kind enough to take us up, up, deeper into vermont than perhaps we were comfortable with, to his… well, i remember it as a sort of willy wonka-esque mansion with monkey butlers and a wine-dark wine river of wine. the point is, BELLA’S BARTOK NAKED HOT TUB PARTY! a whole floor of this house was just pools and hot tubs! picture all of us, all with glasses of wine, all in a hot tub, with a dog in the pool, cackling like madmen. thaaat’s right. no, before you ask, no one took any pictures, ’cause who in hell has time for that crap when life is already PERFECT? not we. incidentally, if anyone wants to join us on tour as a photographer: email@example.com. and suitcase junket, if you’re out there reading this, you had the chance to come with us, and YOU BLEW IT. it just goes to show you, always say yes to everything. stranger offers you candy? yes. come to my remote, country chateau where no one can hear you scream? yes. get in my van with no windows, we’re going to “disneyland”? yes.
the next morning we awoke and amory made us all eggs benedict. that’s right, eggs benedict. not some amorphous pile of overscrambled eggs and burnt toast because it’s an easier way to feed twelve people. no, no, no. we roll with eggs benedict.
we had to hightail it to nashua, nh, because we spent the whole day eating eggs benedict, and so we were nearly late to our show at riverwalk. at first apprehensive because there were tables and people eating dinner, we were assuaged when we started playing and blew the food off people’s plates and danced on their tables and smashed our boots into their spaghetti and like stepped on their wine glasses à la the jazz flute scene in… anchorman, was it? a few of the angel-like employees gave us a floor to sleep on (not before turning it into like this little just-asking-for-seven-guys-to-sleep-in-a-pig-pile cove of blankets, pillows, and love) and, as always, jesse stayed up ’til five in the morning playing 90’s pop covers and blew his voice out. what a trooper.
then it was back to northampton, but not without that requisite, almost ceremonial forgetting of several backpacks and books and hats that we will one day have to return for. we don’t even tour to play music, it’s really all just a front for us to get our hats back from the towns where we have left them in the past.
we played at one pearl street in noho amongst friend-lover-bands june and the bee and the mary jane jones for the buzz magazine one year anniversary. there were two stages, and there was this sonic thing where if you were in the bathroom, you could hear them both, and so i spent a lot of time in the bathroom, pretending i was hearing one big, complicated band (hearing a hip-hop group at the same time as EYES was especially cool (also, check that band out, holy shit. they’re tricky to find online as of right now, so no link.)). why does everyone make fun of me for the things i do? anyway, we had to miss the alchemystics‘ set because we were playing simultaneously, but as soon as i can get one of those wireless guitar cables, it won’t be a problem. hell, we should all get wireless setups, and then we can play our show in the crowd of the alchemystics show, and just leave cardboard cutouts of ourselves on the other stage. does anyone understand what i’m talking about? it makes sense to me.
anyway, that show was special because it began with dan yelling something into the mic about diarrhea, over and over again (he was in one of his moods), and i say if you can start a show like that and not clear out the room, something special is happening. we did another strip show-type thing, too. complete with 70’s porn funk jams. it was weird.
then, onto the last show of our precious, precious tour: the anchor, in kingston, ny. it was beautiful, magical, transcendent, uhh… nice. our pals anna rexia and friends were there in full regalia to join us onstage and dance around with extra arms and lots of feathers. they will be with us in the near future, freaking everyone out. be ready.
then, suddenly, it was over, and we drove home. and made up a van-game in which you turn existing movie titles into porn movie titles. think about it.
– Fancy Kerrigan