Send Self Control

Hey, friends. Tonight is a special night I suppose. Polar Bear Club was scheduled to have an off day in order to recover from each other, lack of sleep, me, and general malaise. Two days ago, PBC and Frank Turner were offered a show anyway in Trier, Germany. The Gaslight Anthem couldn’t do it because they’re off filming some tv show in hopes of conquering the music world with their message of world peace, Cadillac cars, blue jeans, and white t shirts. So instead of finding a cheap hotel where we would have spent the day and night secretly sneaking off to the bathroom to touch ourselves in the worst of places, PBC and Francis Turner opted to play an off day show with only a couple of days notice. Why? Because we’re punk as fuck. Nope, that’s a lie, Jimmy uses hair product.

So here I am now lording over the merch table with a drunken eye whilst PBC plays in front of about twenty people. No, not a huge turnout but the venue we’re in is pretty wild and the promoter Robert is treating us extremely well. For instance, the man went out of his way to not only set up the show but he also fed us, got me drunk, will be giving us a place to crash, and hopefully won’t notice the garbage can that I’ll eventually throw up in. I’m told where we’re at used to be a monastery. There is a large court yard that has sweet looking graffiti on most of the walls and in another part of the building there is a basketball hoop. For the first time since the late 90’s I picked up the ball and shot around for a bit with Goose, Emmett and Chris Browne. Goose shoots like he’s slapping away fruits and vegetables, Emmett has pretty good form, and Browne shoots under handed. I don’t get it either. I took a couple pictures of the building as well as the graffiti and I hope to upload them soon. I also hope to sleep with an attractive woman again someday but I don’t see either ever happening so stew on that.

Sunday March 1st, Croningen
So I thought I would have more to write about our night in Trier but it turns out I didn’t. Who knew that I could only make fun of myself and the Polar Bears for so long? It’s around noon and I find myself on a stranger’s couch in Croningen, Holland. I do not know our host but I’m pretty sure while we were sleeping he came in and took pictures of us. I can neither can confirm nor deny this because I had a bit of the devil’s brew in me. Nate is laid out to the right of me snoring away and our driver Stan is on the floor at my feet. I’m extremely hung over, again, and I want to kick Nate in the stomach for snoring so god damned loud. I wasn’t able to actually see any of last night’s show in Cronigen because I was watching merch all night and the table was all the way on the other side of the venue. A large piece of me is dead inside because I was un able to take a walk through the red light district that apparently was dangerously close to the venue PBC played at. Yes, there is always Amsterdam tonight but I don’t think anyone in Polar Bear Club wishes to take a walk on the wild, dark side with me. Why? Because they all seem to have morals and integrity. Well, except for Frank.

Including tonight, we only have three more shows with Frank Turner and The Gaslight Anthem. When this part concludes, we finish up in the UK for some smaller headline shows. In ten days or so I’ll be back home laying out on the ol’ futon. Part of me is ready to go home today. I’m exhausted, smelly, dirty, and I’ve overindulged a bit too much this tour. Not only with food but with booze. Heading out with a band as big as The Gaslight Anthem means that there is always all kinds of drinks backstage. I lack the capacity to say no to anyone or anything and have the will power of an….alcoholic? Hell, I just might be one. When I’m home, I’ll have a job to go back to (unless anyone from my work reads this) and structure. As you all know, I’ll also have the parents to answer to. Hopefully, this means I can get my act together, you know, for those nine days before we head back out again. Pray for mojo.

“Trevor Backer is a grown up child” – Brian Fallon