Join us as Jon brings you sordid tales and epic fails from the road.
October 13, Vancouver, BC
Folks, some serious shit has gone down since we spoke. Oh, not really. After finishing leg one in Montreal, Canada we had a few days off before flying to Las Vegas to play Matador Records’ twenty-first anniversary party. Allow your imaginations to run wild with thoughts of two thousand late-thirties/early fortysomething indie rockers let loose in a casino and you’ll get the picture. I’m editing all the footage I took into a DVD called “Dads Gone Wild.”
New York City
Back at Phil’s pad. There’s a jazz band playing in the park and I’m annoyed because the drummer is much better than me. Thinking of telling a policeman I saw him steal someone’s wallet.
I guess I should just come right out and tell you this. I don’t know how to sugarcoat it: I lost The Shirt. The pink/salmon-colored one. I hung it up in my hotel room after our Philly show and forgot about it. I have several calls in to the hotel but this might be a lost cause. It’s ok, though. Like Slash’s top hat, Lenny Kravitz’ dreads and GG Allin’s soiled jockstrap The Shirt had become an albatross. Everywhere I went people only wanted to talk about The Shirt. Rumors even began circulating about The Shirt’s involvement in the Cameron Crowe/Nancy Wilson split. It was just too much. I only hope The Shirt’s new owner loves it as much as I did and remembers to give it its bipolar medication.
WXPN Studios, Philadelphia, PA
Good rockin’ in Boston last night. The venue was a super ritzy joint called the Royale and it reminded me of the kind of place Benny Goodman or Tommy Dorsey might have played back in the forties when music was just being invented. Our show was scheduled for the very reasonable hour of 9:15 pm and we were all very grateful for this because we can’t deal with being up too late no more.
New York City
What the f am I doing up at 5:30 am? Oh, now I remember: Post-Fallon I went out for Indian food and zonked out at 9:30 pm. Now I’m awake, just as the monsters are going to bed. Crap, I didn’t even get to see our first TV appearance in sixteen years. Playing in a cold TV studio is such an unnatural setting for a rock band but the Fallon crew was super nice and it helped that we were surrounded by enthusiastic kids while we played. I can’t imagine most of them knew who we were but I did see a woman off to my right in a “Newbridge is for Lovers” shirt who’d been in the front row at both of our NYC shows. So that made me feel both relaxed and creeped out. I’m kidding. I think.
NBC Studios NYC
I’m sitting in the band room at Late Night with Jimmy Fallon. Jim’s crashed out on the sofa, his arms across his stomach like he’s steeling himself against a potential assault. This might have something to do with the time I punched him in the stomach while he was sleeping. He needn’t worry about that. Me rifling through his wallet? That’s a whole ‘nother story.
New York City
I’d forgotten this feeling. I’m lying in bed in my friend Phil’s apartment the morning after a New York City Superchunk show– a scene that’s taken place a hundred times since I joined the band in October of 1991. And true to form, I’m in pain.
en route to Washington, DC.
“I can’t believe I’m on tour again.” With these words Laura Ballance climbs into the van, the last member of our party to be picked up for this week-long jaunt. It is kind of hard to believe. This is the first time Superchunk has been on the road for more than a couple days at a time since the summer of 2002.
