Prologue
I feel I need to explain a couple things before the actual entry below. First off, the following really has nothing to do with the band Polar Bear Club whatsoever, it's once again pretty much just about me. How can one person hate himself so much then go on about that very same subject matter for weeks at a time? It's probably science. Also, I go on a bunch using gross words about feelings and love. Obviously, it's all fiction. I mean, the only things I actually love is a bottle of beer and a nice fuck film. Lastly, I wrote most of this while PBC were in Australia and I took a vacation to the west coast to clear my head. As always, everything I write is all in fun and mostly untrue. Let's go!
Many moons ago, under this cold, calloused shell of mine, once beat a heart that pumped blood instead of an angry, black, jelly-like ooze. I’m talking about the good old days, back when my mane flowed like a Nordic god’s, the bags under my eyes were not yet tattooed on by time, and going against God's natural order, I actually had a girlfriend. Of course, I'm referring to the early 2000's, but as fondly as I remember the era now, not all was well. For instance, Saves The Day just put out "In Reverie," thus beginning an epic meteoric fall into mediocrity not seen again until Alkaline Trio's recent crawl into non-significance. And soon my salad days came to an end. Looking back, I should have recognized this as foreshadowing of bad things to come. (I half take back the Saves The Day/Trio Joke. The STD part I meant but I like the new Alkaline Trio record a lot. Plus, Skiba and I need to meet in order to discuss booze and pills.)
As for the girlfriend angle, well, I don't want to mention her name here or anywhere else for that matter. Based on previous experiences, if you say or type her name three times, she suddenly appears like a controlled hurricane, destroying everything in her way, including my self esteem, mental health, and most importantly, my checking account. But all those years ago, we lived together, liked each other, and even spoke of marrying each other. For about five seconds.
Easily the hottest girl I've ever had sex with that I didn't have to pay, I somehow kept her interest for about a year, which was quite the herculean task considering I most resemble a pint glass full of plain oatmeal. During a time when I should have been concentrating on graduating college and making positive steps towards our future, in the last couple months of our relationship, I instead chose to stay out late drinking, getting high, and ignoring my partner. But none of that truly matters for I'm the protagonist of this story and she's the dirty tramp that left me for another man when we were still a couple.
As I remember, the "man" she transitioned to straight from me was everything I was not. Neck tattoos, edge to the point of overcompensating for other personal shortcomings, mean, ugly as sin, and from all accounts, a misogynist. Ok, well, maybe we both had the whole woman-hating thing in common, but other than that we were like night compared to day. And if you haven't asked yourself yet, I'm sure you will now. The question that must be on your mind - "Why, Trevor? Why are you telling us all this? This isn't a Livejournal account or your junior high diary. We just want to read about Polar Bear Club tour dates, why do you insist on punishing us like this?" Well, if you don't see the similarities between my attractive ex girlfriend leaving me for another and Polar Bear Club (attractive girlfriend) recently ditching their trusty, yet homely tour manager for Australia (straight edge new boyfriend), well, you're just as crazy as a writer still in love with someone that bailed over six years ago.
One thing time has taught me is that I'm the same exact person that I was in the early 2000’s that I am in 2010, except now I live on a futon that isn't even mine. Oh, God, it's happening all over again! Stupid Australia and their colorful and shocking neck tattoos. I already know how I'm going to handle this one, the same way I handled my breakup all those years ago. First, drunkenly and alone, I'll probably hack my way into Polar Bear Club's Myspace and read all about how great, exciting and new Australia is. To my horror, I'll then stumble upon the messages any ex boyfriend or tour manager should always skip. You know, the ones that will go on and on about all the weird, taboo things Polar Bear Club and Australia do behind closed doors. All the acts that Polar Bear Club would NEVER do with me, even after two glasses of wine.
Secondly, time will go by and I'll tour manage or possibly even roadie again, you know, move on and such. Perhaps a younger band. Of course new band won't be as good looking as Polar Bear Club and they obviously won't be looking to settle down, but it will be a nice couple of months. I'm thinking Broadway Calls? Or maybe Defeater, if they ditch Jay Maas, of course. PBC and my new band, whoever they may be, eventually will have to run into each other on shows and probable tours. And yes, it will be awkward. I'll pretend to be having the time of my life, you know, laughing extra hard at the new lead singer's jokes and pretending to enjoy the new band's songs more than anything off Chasing Hamburg. The whole time, of course, I'll be dying a thousand deaths inside knowing that Goose is being told what to do by another.
And who knows? Someday down the line PBC and the drunk formerly known as Tracker may even work together again, much like the ex and I tried to work it out over the years. However, in both instances, it just won’t be the same. You see, life just isn’t like the movies. Up on the big screen, Lloyd Dobler from Say Anything stands outside Diane Court’s bedroom with a boom box outstretched over his head, pleading for his woman to come back and naturally, it just works out splendidly. In real life, well, in MY life, when I pull the same move, the ex girlfriend finishes blowing her new boyfriend and immediately calls the cops in search of an immediate and permanent restraining order. As far as Polar Bear Club goes, we’ll try doing weekend ventures here and there, but after a couple of beers I’ll insist they write down the name of every single tour manager they’ve been ever been with. It just can’t work; jealousy is an ugly monster, but not as ugly as a drunken Trevor.
The thing is, Polar Bear Club and I are actually still together with no plans of breaking up. (Well, until I get my grad school applications of course.) We have a lot of great things coming up, including the “Tour Of Bands I’ve Never Owned A Record By” with Every Time I Die, Trapped Under Ice, and Four Year Strong. Most importantly, I might actually wiggle my way into a pair of shorts for Warped Tour 2010. The lineup for Warped Tour? Well, a bunch of bands with members born when I was a college quadruple senior but I could use the sun. Unfortunately, as far as the ex, well, that never seemed to work out. Seven years later, I only think about her every second, every day. Eventually, hearing "no" was too much and all I could do was hop a plane to the west coast to start over. And with that, well, my flight to Portland is about to board. See you when I'm back, if I come back at all. (Clearly I came back, I’m finishing this up in Germany, nerds)
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Shorter, Faster, Sadder 2/22/10
It happened again this morning. That flash of panic and nausea in my stomach. A couple seconds of bewilderment, confusion and terror. Once again I wake up have no idea where I am. Luckily, this time I came to in a comfortable bed. What I do remember is that I didn’t even drink that much last night - just a couple beers. But this is how it goes now. While my brain deteriorates and breaks off into tiny pieces I struggle to remember most nights and yet I can still recite every word to The Humpty Dance by Digital Underground. I rush to find our tour laminate that lists every city Polar Bear Club performs in. A rush of warmth and calm shoots through me when the note card tells me we are in Rosswein, Germany.
It’s almost eight AM and I hate myself for being up this early. I hate the Shook Ones and Title Fight’s driver even more since his alarm clock is to blame for jolting me up at such an hour. He seems like a nice enough dude but no one should have a Led Zeppelin song on repeat as a way to get up in the morning especially since it took ten minutes to actually do the trick. I wish I could remember his or anyone’s name but once again I blame the drink and the chemically abused brain.
The promoter for last night’s show put every band and crew member up in a hostel located near the previous night’s venue. I search around the room and see Nate in one bed and the driver in the other. I’m starting to remember checking and settling in just a couple hours before. I peer through the windows to discover outside and I’m reminded of winter in western New York albeit briefly. Snow covers every inch of the ground and I quickly realize there is nothing similar between this part of Germany and Rochester, New York. While I’m no expert on the manner, buildings in this sleepy and cozy town look centuries old and distinctively German.
I once again proceed with my morning rituals, which consist of making sure I haven’t lost my passport, wallet, and sanity. Two of the objects I still have. I trip towards the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror again even though I know it’s a terrible idea that I’ll soon regret. While we haven’t been gone even two weeks, I’m already putting on significant booze weight. Before we left for this expedition I spent ten days in Portland, gargling down alcohol and shoving down all sorts of unhealthy food. This trend continues overseas. Shows offer a large amount of free food and enough hooch to take down Matt Skiba in his prime. Every god damn day I tell myself to take it easy, to slow down, but it seems I can’t even breathe without getting a healthy load on. This happens on each tour and during downtime I get back into shape and drop the pounds. However, right after this tour concludes there isn’t any type of break. As soon as we fly home, a couple days later Polar Bear Club heads out for a month with Every Time I Die. Come April I bet I’m twenty five pounds overweight and longing for the days when I could still see my penis.
I love touring Europe and the UK and at the same time I cannot stand the whole ordeal. Shows have been incredible. People are coming out, singing along, and buying merch for every band. Promoters take care of us and cover every guarantee. I’m seeing some old friends but not meeting anyone new which is fine because all I need is my parent's cat Haley. The drives haven’t been that long but I still get anxious and my knees begin to ache while sitting stationary in the van unable to lie down or get comfortable. For some reason a bit of me longs for home. There isn’t a girl, dog, or a life waiting for me there and I don’t know if there ever will be. Maybe it’s my Xbox 360 I miss so much. Remind me to buy her something nice when I get back. Possibly, a sweater for her hard drive. Unlike other tours, I haven’t really bonded with any other bands members. Where is my Frank Turner, my Derrick of Defeater or even Mark of Strike Anywhere? Well, at least Nate’s here. He’ll do for now. I quickly tell myself to grow up, my inside voice shouts “you’re traveling the world and you have a job many people will kill for. Enjoy it while you can”. And I’ll do that today with a large bottle of lager. But for now I’ll try and get back to sleep. Or maybe the Title Fight driver will get out of the bathroom so I can finally touch my dick – the most important of my morning rituals. It's all for you, kids.
It’s almost eight AM and I hate myself for being up this early. I hate the Shook Ones and Title Fight’s driver even more since his alarm clock is to blame for jolting me up at such an hour. He seems like a nice enough dude but no one should have a Led Zeppelin song on repeat as a way to get up in the morning especially since it took ten minutes to actually do the trick. I wish I could remember his or anyone’s name but once again I blame the drink and the chemically abused brain.
The promoter for last night’s show put every band and crew member up in a hostel located near the previous night’s venue. I search around the room and see Nate in one bed and the driver in the other. I’m starting to remember checking and settling in just a couple hours before. I peer through the windows to discover outside and I’m reminded of winter in western New York albeit briefly. Snow covers every inch of the ground and I quickly realize there is nothing similar between this part of Germany and Rochester, New York. While I’m no expert on the manner, buildings in this sleepy and cozy town look centuries old and distinctively German.
I once again proceed with my morning rituals, which consist of making sure I haven’t lost my passport, wallet, and sanity. Two of the objects I still have. I trip towards the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror again even though I know it’s a terrible idea that I’ll soon regret. While we haven’t been gone even two weeks, I’m already putting on significant booze weight. Before we left for this expedition I spent ten days in Portland, gargling down alcohol and shoving down all sorts of unhealthy food. This trend continues overseas. Shows offer a large amount of free food and enough hooch to take down Matt Skiba in his prime. Every god damn day I tell myself to take it easy, to slow down, but it seems I can’t even breathe without getting a healthy load on. This happens on each tour and during downtime I get back into shape and drop the pounds. However, right after this tour concludes there isn’t any type of break. As soon as we fly home, a couple days later Polar Bear Club heads out for a month with Every Time I Die. Come April I bet I’m twenty five pounds overweight and longing for the days when I could still see my penis.
I love touring Europe and the UK and at the same time I cannot stand the whole ordeal. Shows have been incredible. People are coming out, singing along, and buying merch for every band. Promoters take care of us and cover every guarantee. I’m seeing some old friends but not meeting anyone new which is fine because all I need is my parent's cat Haley. The drives haven’t been that long but I still get anxious and my knees begin to ache while sitting stationary in the van unable to lie down or get comfortable. For some reason a bit of me longs for home. There isn’t a girl, dog, or a life waiting for me there and I don’t know if there ever will be. Maybe it’s my Xbox 360 I miss so much. Remind me to buy her something nice when I get back. Possibly, a sweater for her hard drive. Unlike other tours, I haven’t really bonded with any other bands members. Where is my Frank Turner, my Derrick of Defeater or even Mark of Strike Anywhere? Well, at least Nate’s here. He’ll do for now. I quickly tell myself to grow up, my inside voice shouts “you’re traveling the world and you have a job many people will kill for. Enjoy it while you can”. And I’ll do that today with a large bottle of lager. But for now I’ll try and get back to sleep. Or maybe the Title Fight driver will get out of the bathroom so I can finally touch my dick – the most important of my morning rituals. It's all for you, kids.
Friday, February 19, 2010
I Wrote This Post While NOT Drunk, It's Long And Boring (That's What She Said)
Listen, I know how you're feeling. I understand that overwhelming disappointment that sweeps throughout your body - starting in your chest an then down to your stomach. In fact, I've caused this feeling before. Specifically, five years ago when Myspace still got people laid. After chatting up a girl on the internet and then meeting the lady for the first time. The emotions the poor girl must have felt when a person resembling a six foot wilted penis spilled into the room. That exact horror and shame must be what I'm putting the readsers of this blog through right now. I'm sorry but there will be no Jimmy today. Trevor is back.
Sure, it was nice while it lasted - video updates and self-confidence. Well, as of a few days ago my sabbatical, my forced leave of absence, my personal time of reflection and marathon masturbation is now over. Much to Emmett’s dismay, I'm back on tour with Polar Bear Club.
This wouldn't be a PBC tour without setbacks, crisis, and general ball break-ery On February 10th our plan was to meet at Emmett's house in Syracuse, New York, sort some merch, sleep for a couple hours and head toward the airport for a 6:15am flight on the 11th. From there we would hop on our plane, fly to America's armpit New Jersey and eventually fly over to London, England. Well, around five in the evening on the 10th it became apparent that snow, sleet, and karma would have a hand in possibly delaying our trip overseas.
In the north east part of the United States that we all live in, winter seems to last ten months out of the year. It’s one of the many elements that lead to my opaque skin tone and general positive outlook on life. New York and the surrounding areas were once again experiencing an influx of snow that was closing down most airports. When we all convened to Emmett’s house early in the evening our plane from Jersey to Syracuse was already delayed four hours. This meant if we waited around for our first flight, we would absolutely miss our connecting flight overseas to London, which for some reason was still scheduled and on time. Added to all of this was the issue of Nate not coming with us at all for the first couple of dates due to a family emergency. So while I knew we would eventually get to our destination, not having Nate around the first couple of shows was a drag since he’s the only one in PBC that still puts up with my antics.
On a night that was as bitter, cold, and unforgiving as a step mother, the Mensa think tank known as Polar Bear Club decided to skip the first flight altogether and brave the elements. Around 1:30am, now on February 11th, we all piled into our van and headed straight to New Jersey to cut out the middleman and just grab a straight flight to London, England. Not really thinking about how much it would cost to house our van at the New Jersey airport for almost a month, Jimmy decided to helm our ship through icy conditions that almost derailed the entire expedition permanently. By this time, I was drunk so I was ready to die if need be. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you’re related to me, we finally made it to the airport alive and certainly not well.
I’d love to regale you with all the fascinating details of the security check in, the wackiness that only a seven hour flight can bring, the vegetarian meal that tasted like chewy, bad sex and the sleeplessness that led to the bags under my eyes being permanently tattooed upon my face but this blog has already gone on longer than anyone would ever want. If you’re still reading this and not jerkin’ it to a big breasted African American on www.spankwire.com, well, I don’t even want you coming to my website anymore. Just know that we made it here alive, without Nate for a couple shows.
I often bitch about how when we tour I never really get to see or experience any sights other than the venue of the city we’re in. While others often get to walk about each city and soak in the local conditions, I instead stay trapped between four walls in a pub, club, or basement. I prefer this since I hate going outside, despise exercise and would rather stay stationary at all times while snacking. However, our fist show was scheduled for Dublin, Ireland. I don’t know anything about Dublin or Ireland other than it’s where Lucky Charms cereal was clearly born but I must admit I was excited about going to a country I’d never been to before. Of course, PBC were supposed to play Dublin a couple times before but for all sorts of reasons I cannot remember, the shows were always cancelled. This was the first show where PBC would play without Nate.
Down a guitar player in Dublin, Polar Bear Club played without Title Fight and Shook Ones. Chris took on all guitar parts while Goose had the freedom to roam around on stage right like a free-range chicken. The venue was a pub with a curious stage that lacked any type of lighting. Luckily, the show was a matinee so daylight through the main window illuminated the bands. Rooted deeply in the back of the venue was yours truly refusing to move or leave the building. However, I did experience a bit of the culture I denounced earlier, Polar Bear Club’s manager bought me a Guinness. Not only am I clearly now an expert on Irish diplomacy, I’m pretty much a US Ambassador on foreign policy.
That night we stayed with a bunch of local new friends and headed out bright and early to catch a boat back to the United Kingdom. By this time due to early ferry and load in times, no one in the band, myself or are driver Stan actually received a proper night’s rest. More importantly, while I had officially been on tour for many hours, I was still sober as a X’d up Jimmy Stadt at age 18. Luckily, the day after the Dublin show was a day off used to travel and hang out with our British parents Niall and Liana. Drunk on pizza and suffering from exhaustion, I showed my age for the first time in years and went to bed at 8:30pm. Boarded up in an attic next to Jimmy, I laid my head down to rest anticipating the upcoming day when we’d finally meet up with Shook Ones and Title Fight.
Still sans Nate, PBC and myself descended upon Manchester, England to once again play the club known as Moho Live. We’ve actually been to Moho twice before. Once to play a show with posi peaceniks Ruiner and once to hang out and drink beers with The Gaslight Anthem. Being a creature of comfort, this night I once again refused to battle the outside elements and plodded down behind a merch table and watched the night’s events unfold. Well, for a good five minutes I did at least. Emmett took over merch duties and I was unleashed into the crowd searching and coveting warmth that only seven to nine beers could bring. Opening band Basement opened the show and primed everyone up for hype machine Title Fight. For some reason kids choose to mosh to Title Fight even though they’re either pop punk or straight up rock depending on whom you ask. Hey, I’m not here to judge considering back in the late 90’s I skanked more than my fair share but at least with those bands there was a horn section. Either way, kids went off for TF and rightfully so. Those dudes are alright in my book, they like Texas Is The Reason. Next up was Shook Ones who as it turns out are one of my favorite bands for the last four years or so.
If you like pop punk or melodic hardcore and Shook Ones aren’t your favorite band you need to sort your lives out. One of the best bands going and the only band I’ve ever seen pull off a Descendents cover, Shook Ones didn’t have quite the energetic response as the band before them did. In front of the stage was an empty area of floor that kids more or less refused to move up in to. Sure, there were a couple sing alongs and finger points here and there but ultimately I was disappointed in S.O.’s Manchester reaction. Shame on you, kids. Lastly, Polar Bear Club sauntered on stage and showed nearly 300 kids why they’re still the king.
Finally, on February 16th in Norwich, England Nate returned to us. Nate and I try and make it a rule to never touch so there were no friendly embraces or pats on the back. Instead, Nate only asked how many dudes Id blown since I saw him last and as always I answered a baker’s dozen. One of our favorite venues, The Marquee somehow allowed almost 200 kids into an area no bigger than most living rooms. This night, Shook Ones got the reaction they deserve and Title Fight once again gave every band on the package a run for their money (whatever the fuck that phrase means). I’m told PBC played their Weezer cover and I vaguely remember an epic stage dive from a mantle. This could all be fiction since I now black out for hours after drink three.
So once again everything is good on this end. Uk kids and promoters really go out of their way to support bands and I’m glad to be back here. It’s exciting to see Title Fight go over so well on their first time overseas. It makes me with Polar Bear Club had done a tour of this type of caliber when we first ventured over. Clubs of this size would have helped us a million times more than the Gaslight/Frank Turner tour, which mostly consisted of large barriers and blank faces. However, one cannot change the past and if I could I still would have banged that hooker in the Netherlands. Speak soon? No, probably not.
Sure, it was nice while it lasted - video updates and self-confidence. Well, as of a few days ago my sabbatical, my forced leave of absence, my personal time of reflection and marathon masturbation is now over. Much to Emmett’s dismay, I'm back on tour with Polar Bear Club.
This wouldn't be a PBC tour without setbacks, crisis, and general ball break-ery On February 10th our plan was to meet at Emmett's house in Syracuse, New York, sort some merch, sleep for a couple hours and head toward the airport for a 6:15am flight on the 11th. From there we would hop on our plane, fly to America's armpit New Jersey and eventually fly over to London, England. Well, around five in the evening on the 10th it became apparent that snow, sleet, and karma would have a hand in possibly delaying our trip overseas.
In the north east part of the United States that we all live in, winter seems to last ten months out of the year. It’s one of the many elements that lead to my opaque skin tone and general positive outlook on life. New York and the surrounding areas were once again experiencing an influx of snow that was closing down most airports. When we all convened to Emmett’s house early in the evening our plane from Jersey to Syracuse was already delayed four hours. This meant if we waited around for our first flight, we would absolutely miss our connecting flight overseas to London, which for some reason was still scheduled and on time. Added to all of this was the issue of Nate not coming with us at all for the first couple of dates due to a family emergency. So while I knew we would eventually get to our destination, not having Nate around the first couple of shows was a drag since he’s the only one in PBC that still puts up with my antics.
On a night that was as bitter, cold, and unforgiving as a step mother, the Mensa think tank known as Polar Bear Club decided to skip the first flight altogether and brave the elements. Around 1:30am, now on February 11th, we all piled into our van and headed straight to New Jersey to cut out the middleman and just grab a straight flight to London, England. Not really thinking about how much it would cost to house our van at the New Jersey airport for almost a month, Jimmy decided to helm our ship through icy conditions that almost derailed the entire expedition permanently. By this time, I was drunk so I was ready to die if need be. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you’re related to me, we finally made it to the airport alive and certainly not well.
I’d love to regale you with all the fascinating details of the security check in, the wackiness that only a seven hour flight can bring, the vegetarian meal that tasted like chewy, bad sex and the sleeplessness that led to the bags under my eyes being permanently tattooed upon my face but this blog has already gone on longer than anyone would ever want. If you’re still reading this and not jerkin’ it to a big breasted African American on www.spankwire.com, well, I don’t even want you coming to my website anymore. Just know that we made it here alive, without Nate for a couple shows.
I often bitch about how when we tour I never really get to see or experience any sights other than the venue of the city we’re in. While others often get to walk about each city and soak in the local conditions, I instead stay trapped between four walls in a pub, club, or basement. I prefer this since I hate going outside, despise exercise and would rather stay stationary at all times while snacking. However, our fist show was scheduled for Dublin, Ireland. I don’t know anything about Dublin or Ireland other than it’s where Lucky Charms cereal was clearly born but I must admit I was excited about going to a country I’d never been to before. Of course, PBC were supposed to play Dublin a couple times before but for all sorts of reasons I cannot remember, the shows were always cancelled. This was the first show where PBC would play without Nate.
Down a guitar player in Dublin, Polar Bear Club played without Title Fight and Shook Ones. Chris took on all guitar parts while Goose had the freedom to roam around on stage right like a free-range chicken. The venue was a pub with a curious stage that lacked any type of lighting. Luckily, the show was a matinee so daylight through the main window illuminated the bands. Rooted deeply in the back of the venue was yours truly refusing to move or leave the building. However, I did experience a bit of the culture I denounced earlier, Polar Bear Club’s manager bought me a Guinness. Not only am I clearly now an expert on Irish diplomacy, I’m pretty much a US Ambassador on foreign policy.
That night we stayed with a bunch of local new friends and headed out bright and early to catch a boat back to the United Kingdom. By this time due to early ferry and load in times, no one in the band, myself or are driver Stan actually received a proper night’s rest. More importantly, while I had officially been on tour for many hours, I was still sober as a X’d up Jimmy Stadt at age 18. Luckily, the day after the Dublin show was a day off used to travel and hang out with our British parents Niall and Liana. Drunk on pizza and suffering from exhaustion, I showed my age for the first time in years and went to bed at 8:30pm. Boarded up in an attic next to Jimmy, I laid my head down to rest anticipating the upcoming day when we’d finally meet up with Shook Ones and Title Fight.
Still sans Nate, PBC and myself descended upon Manchester, England to once again play the club known as Moho Live. We’ve actually been to Moho twice before. Once to play a show with posi peaceniks Ruiner and once to hang out and drink beers with The Gaslight Anthem. Being a creature of comfort, this night I once again refused to battle the outside elements and plodded down behind a merch table and watched the night’s events unfold. Well, for a good five minutes I did at least. Emmett took over merch duties and I was unleashed into the crowd searching and coveting warmth that only seven to nine beers could bring. Opening band Basement opened the show and primed everyone up for hype machine Title Fight. For some reason kids choose to mosh to Title Fight even though they’re either pop punk or straight up rock depending on whom you ask. Hey, I’m not here to judge considering back in the late 90’s I skanked more than my fair share but at least with those bands there was a horn section. Either way, kids went off for TF and rightfully so. Those dudes are alright in my book, they like Texas Is The Reason. Next up was Shook Ones who as it turns out are one of my favorite bands for the last four years or so.
If you like pop punk or melodic hardcore and Shook Ones aren’t your favorite band you need to sort your lives out. One of the best bands going and the only band I’ve ever seen pull off a Descendents cover, Shook Ones didn’t have quite the energetic response as the band before them did. In front of the stage was an empty area of floor that kids more or less refused to move up in to. Sure, there were a couple sing alongs and finger points here and there but ultimately I was disappointed in S.O.’s Manchester reaction. Shame on you, kids. Lastly, Polar Bear Club sauntered on stage and showed nearly 300 kids why they’re still the king.
Finally, on February 16th in Norwich, England Nate returned to us. Nate and I try and make it a rule to never touch so there were no friendly embraces or pats on the back. Instead, Nate only asked how many dudes Id blown since I saw him last and as always I answered a baker’s dozen. One of our favorite venues, The Marquee somehow allowed almost 200 kids into an area no bigger than most living rooms. This night, Shook Ones got the reaction they deserve and Title Fight once again gave every band on the package a run for their money (whatever the fuck that phrase means). I’m told PBC played their Weezer cover and I vaguely remember an epic stage dive from a mantle. This could all be fiction since I now black out for hours after drink three.
So once again everything is good on this end. Uk kids and promoters really go out of their way to support bands and I’m glad to be back here. It’s exciting to see Title Fight go over so well on their first time overseas. It makes me with Polar Bear Club had done a tour of this type of caliber when we first ventured over. Clubs of this size would have helped us a million times more than the Gaslight/Frank Turner tour, which mostly consisted of large barriers and blank faces. However, one cannot change the past and if I could I still would have banged that hooker in the Netherlands. Speak soon? No, probably not.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Final Aussie Vid
Here it is, the final tour video from Australia. Enjoy! YouTube won't allow this video to post with audio for some BS reason so it's only going to be on here, sorry. Thanks to everyone who we met and who was involved with the tour. We leave for England and Europe next week with Shook Ones and Title Fight. It’s going to rule! And also Trevor will be re-joining us after our stint down under without him. It’s going to be awkward and all “Do we shake hands, do we hug, do we french?” But I'm confident that we will get back in the swing of things rather quickly (french). Bye for now.
Jimmy
Watch it here.
Jimmy
Watch it here.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Australian Tour Entry 2
Hey there. It’s time for the next installment in our Australian tour videos. I plan to do one more after this but my camera and iMovie have both been kind of weird and flakey (hence the lack of updates). Even in this video the audio gets off a bit at the end but I couldn't fix it because iMovie deleted the project. If I were a douche I would say "fuck my life" but I'm not...sort of. Enjoy!
Jimmy
Watch the video HERE
Jimmy
Watch the video HERE
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