2006 Road Journal

2005 Road Journal

Old Skoggins' Obit

Exploded...

September 5 th, 2006
Back again with another tour update weeks after the fact. I always seem to be a few weeks behind with these things but, hey, this isn't CNN; if this stuff truly effected your day to day life I'd have a fresh one waiting for you every morning with a real time stock market strip scrolling by on the bottom of the screen so you could make educated trades while reading about how our botching the Bad Girls Breakdown in Cedar City Nevada is going to completely alter your plans for a corporate lunch this afternoon. But seeing as how that's not the case I'll continue along at my own pace as usual. We didn't botch the breakdown in Cedar City, though, it was really a surprisingly good show despite the 100+ temps that NIGHT. If global warming isn't real then Hell is burning it's way closer and closer to the surface by the day, because that night I lost ten pounds in water weight alone, and if I was pumpin' out the sweat like that then all those people dancing that night must have gone home glistening like the can of PBR that I'm sippin' on pool side right now. But the heat didn't stop there because from Cedar City we went up to Jacksonville, Oregon to open for Hootie and the Blowfish.

I must admit, I let out more that a chuckle when I heard we'd be opening for Hootie, but those guys are the real deal. Those guys were so genuinely happy to be playing music for a living that they made Richard Simmons look depressed and slightly chubby. I mean, talk about self-aware; they were selling T-shirts that said, "I still like Hootie, bitch". If that doesn't buy back the piece of real estate they once occupied in your teenage heart then it has long since been sold to Simon Cowel and you will never see it again, except perhaps as the backdrop for a Ford commercial. Hootie truly opened our eyes that night. They taught us that we will always have fans so long as we still love what we're doing and that Steve's incredible power over the over-40-and -female-crowd will only increase over time. Oh, the future is so bright...

After our brief tryst with Hootie we played a show in Bend for, perhaps, the healthiest crowd we have ever seen. There was a 5k marathon going on and the finish line was fifty feet from the front of the stage. Every one was a jogger, it was amazing. Even the sound guy went for a jog before the show started, and he had plenty of time because we were all busy washing our taco sauce stained gig shirts in the river near by. Needless to say after watching people run past us all day we were feeling a little exhausted so we headed back to the bay to sleep for the next week before making our way up to Montana. Oh, Montana...

There is no way I can accurately sum up our days in Montana without the aid of a pie chart illustrating the population age ratio, a topographical map, a good six beer buzz, and a firm understanding of livestock genitalia, so your just going to have to use your imagination to fill in a bit of the details and atmospheric nuances. Just imagine; five days at the Montana State Fair playing half hour long sets opening for Justin James, the Rock 'n' Roll Hypnotist. The imagination runs wild. Put on top of this the fact that we were staying at a hotel that had a 50's Lounge on the second floor called the Sip and Dip that has an 80 year old woman named Piano Pat playing Neil Diamond and Jimmy Buffet songs while girls dressed as mermaids swam up to the bar via the window in bottom of the pool that happened to be third floor, and you can see why without the items listed above you might not catch the whole Fear and Loathing in Los Vegas meets Escanaba in Da Moonlight picture that I'm attempting to paint for you. Hunter's thesaurus didn't contain adjectives descriptive enough for the strangeness that seemed to follow us all over Great Falls.

After our life-changing week in Great Falls we hit Bozeman with all the force of a T-ball pinch hitter. How were we supposed to know that the 100-year-old Sweat Pea Festival would out draw a band of our legendary status? No worries though, that show left us with strength we needed to make it through a Clumsy Lovers show at Chico Hot Springs. Not only did we rage all night with the Clumsy, but we got to see our old friend Piper, the only man we've ever seen bong 4.5 beers at once, as well as the only guy we've every seen puke 4.5 beers all over the tires of our bus to which he said, "Oh, I'm sorry, that never happens to me. Are those Firestone tires? Cause if they are they have a warranty for that sort of thing; they'll replace your tires if some one pukes on them." We can't seem to find that line in the warranty, but we forgive you just the same, Pipe. Montana is the sort of state that just seems better with the Clumsys. How else could we have lined up a free rafting trip just a few hours before our next show? How else could we have all worn near matching western shirts at said show? That's just it. There is no other way.

The only way we could follow such an experience is by playing at a small bar in Livingston, Montana that has a name that I couldn't help but think of as a derogatory name for a desperate sex act; the Murray Inn. I'll let you conjure up the imaginary sex act on your own. Despite the name this turned out to be a rather enjoyable gig. Trevor of the Clumsys was there in support and it is probably this fact that led fate to bring a vintage clothing enthusiast to the show who would take us out to her car after ward to replace our beloved borrowed Trevor shirts with any one of a number of western style shirts that she just so happened to be traveling with. Although I still miss Trevor’s authentic Canadian musk wafting up to my over-appreciative nostrils while I rumble my way through Disco Bus and Bad Girl, I am incredibly thankful to now have a few "Pimp Eastwood" shirts of my own. With tears in our eyes and Hockey in our hearts we bid the Clumsys adieu and made our way up to Whitefish to play Flannagan's.

Last time we cozied up to the bar at Flannagan's, Jerry Joseph was developing a life long bond with Steve while Jeff went shot for shot with his bassist. Sadly, Jerry was not there this time, but luckily a bunch of twenty-something, fireworks exploding, rum drinking, combustible injecting hooligans were. Needless to say we temporarily turned their street into a convincing re-enactment of the storming of Normandy with a room mates illegally gotten fireworks supply, teamed up to drink one of the guys into a stupor so we could hang out with his white-hot girlfriend with out him, broke a chair (and nearly a nose), before getting debilitating drunk our selves and nearly getting into a fist fight before storming out of their disheveled living room never to return. Good times. Such an exhausting night had to be followed by some R&R so we headed up to Glacier National Park for two days where we stayed in the Charley Wise cabin, a 100 year old log cabin built and lived in by the afore mentioned bad ass Charley Wise. Why is he a bad ass? Google him. I don't have the time nor the hard drive space to recount all the ways in witch this guy makes Mr. T look like Gary Coleman. Great way to relax, but it left us feeling a little less authentic ourselves. Oh, well.

From the simple life we went to the bright lights of Crystal Bay Casino playing the after-show for David Grisman and I'll be damned if it wasn't the best David Grisman after-show we've ever played; the place was packed, the sound was great, the booze was free, and the sound-guy was so incredibly cool that I still feel the overwhelming urge to take his mom out for a stake dinner simply in appreciation of creating such a person. I couldn't imagine a better way of preparing us for the Explosion.

The last gig of this tour, the Summer Explosion at our good friend Chris Mohler's house will go down in history as one of the four or five greatest gigs of my young life. There were just under two hundred friends and family members stumbling across Chris' meticulously manicured lawn all teaming up to kill the eight kegs that were supplied before moving on to what ever they could find, and they found a LOT of something, after rocking their socks off to Trick Monkeys, Shoestring Strap, 2ME, Free Range Robots, Blue Turtle Seduction and us, the Tide. We were hard pressed to follow the mind-blowing performances that came before us, but we had a little help from our friends Melissa Rapp and The Sons of Ralph who we flew in especially for the show. The Sons did not disappoint; in the end it was agreed that we had just played one of the best shows of TMT's existence and it didn't end there. The next morning we woke to mimosas, pancakes, and a little of Cass Lucas' brilliant guitar work before gearing up for an acoustic show with the Sons the end the explosion. I thinks it's fair to say a great time was had by all, even if they don't all remember it. As incredible as that was, it doesn't even approach the explosion we have in store for next year, but for now I'll continue de-toxing from this one.

AOD, Desert Rocks, Union Street Fair...

June 8th, 2006

I know it hasn't been six months yet but I thought I might try to be on top of things for a change. So here we are, back in the bay, relaxing with a couple of margaritas and just coasting off of the ungodly pile of cash we made with this last tour. You know how it is; throwing out half drank bottles of Cristal just because the label was torn and cleaning up spilt caviar with crisp twenty dollar bills just to give Jefferson a bit of that New England harbor smell you know he enjoys so much.

But enough about our fabulous home life, lets talk about the gigs that got us here. Our national tour ended with a gentle descent back to earth in the form of a hand-full of modest and enjoyable gigs. After our 36 hour drive across country from Connecticut to Colorado we slipped into Conor O'Neil's Irish Pub to play a show for a nice crowd full of freezing people. Never thought I'd see fresh snow in mid May but Colorado's good about surprising you that way. Just to keep things consistent we played an Irish Pub in Salt Lake City as well--Piper Down. This was our first introduction to Wisebird, a bluesy take on 70's rock with a look that screams Almost Famous. Those guys could really lay down a groove, but it was seeing them again at Desert Rocks that just solidified their status as under-appreciated Gods of rock, but I'll get into that later.

After a few days of music and stout beer, it only makes sense to kick back in a casino for a bit, don't you think? Our new friend Justin Lewis made a fine showing by dancing until he was so tired the air hockey table looked like a good place to sleep (see pic). Crystal Bay nearly ended our touring days for good and not by comping a bottle of Red Velvet for Jeff (the way I imagined might be the end of this long and adventurous dream), but by giving us five hotel rooms, $150 worth of food, free beer and even a few crazy locals who are apparently there and ready with instruments at all times in case we need a stand in. Steve put it best when he said, "If we had a residency playing here you guys would only see me for the three hours we were on stage; the rest of the time I'd be in my room watching HBO with a hot plate of ribs resting on my slowing increasing beer gut." One day Steve, one day...

We woke late the next morning, rested and showered, and made our way to Whole Earth Fest in Davis, CA to play for the tired and dirty. I wasn't quite expecting Davis to be the true hippie sanctuary that it turned out to be. Hemp clothing, organic vegan food, patchouli as currency, and five year olds with dreads like a Bob Marley stunt double. Yeah, that place was reassuring in almost every sense of the word. It's always good to know that even at a concert on a dry campus, our good friend Chris Mohler can be found passed out in the driver's seat of our van with a BAC level that would make John Belushi scream. Good times.

A mid-day show at Alpine Meadows ski resort in Tahoe brought this tour to a beautiful close and made sure we all went home terribly sun burned. Despite our random assortments of loaner hats Jeff went home so sun burnt that over the course of the next few days Alovera jumped up three points on the Dow Jones. Good thing we had some time off, he was only just regaining his radiant white glow when we got back together a week later to play a few shows with the Assembly of Dust.

Our two days opening for AOD were two days well spent. We had great and enthusiastic crowds at both Moe's Alley and The Independent for what was AOD's first trip out to the west coast. Everything worked out better than we could have imagined what with the AOD guys playing entirely on our equipment both nights due to their having to fly out here from the East coast just for these shows. Remember Reid, one day I will call upon you for a favor...

The AOD shows were followed by another week of relaxation because, well, lets face it, none of you people want to see me without a solid week of lats and delts being pushed to the limit. What? You think this body built its self? Forget about it. Once my abs had the persistent burn they deserved we hopped back in the van and drove 14 hours out into the Utah desert for Desert Rocks, a small but potent festival put on by some of the best damn Beer-Pong players I have ever seen. I'm not joking. These guys were falling down drunk and still calling cups and making them. Unbelievable. Dave, you are a God among men. This is also where we caught back up with Wisebird. Sadly we weren’t there for the set they played on Saturday, so we made up for it with some endurance drinking and late night trouble making. I don't try to say we're the most partying band in the US based on myth and conjecture but these guys give us a run for our money. Let’s just say that by the end of the night some one was making babies ON TOP of Wisebird's van. We've got to step it up guys.

The next morning we got up and went cliff diving in a local (5ft. deep) swimming hole to wash the funk off--and let me tell you, 24 hours in a desert is plenty of time to build up some funk--then high-tailed it back to SF for the Union Street Festival. We were in such a hurry that Steve got a $300 speeding ticket for going over a buck in the Nevada desert, so don't tell me we put safety over everything else. Be as safe as you want, if at least one of us isn't there--conscious and struggling to make use of his one good arm--there won’t be a show, now will there? And what a show there was. Union Street turned out to be one of the biggest crowds we've ever played for. It also let us know that we are still the bee's knees as far as the "homeless and crazy" contingent is concerned, which is nice 'cause I was beginning to doubt myself. So after a highly publicized show like that let's see if we can't get a little props from Bay Area radio. I mean, come on. Who doesn't want to corner that market?

Springtime for Ten Mile Tide

May 7th, 2006
Damn, it's been a long time since we've told you guys what we've been up to. I'd like to say it's because we like building the suspense that's brought about by keeping you in the dark, but, in reality, I'm just that lazy. A lot has happened since I last had the ambition to write anything down, mainly our entire spring tour.

This tour started off unlike any other tour, not because we've been rocking stadiums or overdosing on sugar-free substances, but because this tour started out with a little help from Eli Charleston, the original rag-time guitarist. For those of you who haven't heard Eli, quit wasting time and pick up a disk at www.elicharleston.com--you will not be disappointed, that guy's the bee's knees. Eli held down the back seat all through March, starting with our california run, which included a few Tide-heads following us down the coast, the leader of the pack being our good friend Josh and his nearly reliable RV Fluffy. I've spent many a night blacked out on that table bed to the inconsistent hum of a dying generator. Good times.

It was shortly after the California run when a higher power looked down and told us we should probably mellow out a bit, this in the form of sending our van and trailor sliding off the frozen freeway at 70mph only to skid to a sideways stop five feet from the edge of the road and a one hundred foot drop off. After a brief head check and hugs all around we got back on the road and made our way through Arizona and Utah. When I think of Arizona and Utah, I think of endless desert, red rock canyons and polygamy, not the three foot snow banks and blizzards that met us at the border. So, like the head-strong idiots we are, we trudged on at a frustrating thirty miles an hour until all of Utah had seen just how hard our frozen fingers can rock. Then we went to Colorado and did the same thing.

With irony only a Danielle Steel fan could understand we headed north to Idaho and Montana and much warmer weather. Montana was once again the scenic beer drinkers haven that we have come to expect from the big sky state. The highlights of Montana were the Bozeman show opening for the Gourds (www.thegourds.com) and the Whitefish show opening for Jerry Joseph (www.jerryjoseph.com). The Gourds had a crowd of five hundred THIRSTY rowdies looking for a good time and I’ll be damned if they didn’t find it at the bottom of a keg. The venue actually ran out of beer, a first in all of our days of touring--I think the entire second set was dry, except for the Gourds, who each polished off about a 6 pack of Budweiser per set. And don’t even get me started on Jerry Joseph. That man is the REAL DEAL. I’ve never met a nicer man in all my days, and at the same time no one has ever scared me so completely as Jerry Joseph. When he says a song is about a friend passing away he means dying in his arms, and when he sings about heartbreak you just want to buy him a beer, talk it over and have a good cry. In fact, that’s just what we did. I think Steve still calls Jerry on those cold dark nights to talk about love, the after-life, and Wilco.

From there we moved on through to Spokane for a show with our favorite ping-pong prodigies the Free Range Robots (www.freerangerobots.org). Those guys make me feel like a fake; no one works the crowd like Tyler after a large soda and some Pixie sticks to the head. Genius. After that we actually made it to Portland for the first time ever and were greeted with a cape-making party and many strange looks. A message to all Portlanders; next time we do whole superhero costumes. When we made our way down to Eugene we actually met the guy who bought Old Skoggins off of the junk yard we left him in. He plans to do extensive surgery and take him down to Burning Man still painted up with the TMT logo. If you happen to be at Burning Man and you see Old Skoggins, drop by and say hello.

We then made our way back to California to recuperate for a few days before heading off to Manhattan, Kansas, for yet another uncontrollable rager. What can we say about Manhattan that hasn’t been said? People were dancing on tables and swingin’ from the rafters as always. Lawrence was right up there as well, we even had Tom from Big Metal Rooster (www.bigmetalrooster.com) sit in on Blue Sky. That guy can shred. From Kansas we played in Nebraska for the first time in a town called Kearny and then to St. Louis where we played in a, however well-decorated, hallway. Good times.

We then pulled ourselves away to play a show with Oval Opus in Chicago (www.ovalopus.com). Let me tell you, I’ve never seen any one rock a tambourine like their singer, it has to be seen to be believed. After that we had a nice long drive to Rutgers University in New Jersey where the highlight of the show was the guy juggling bowling pins on stilts. Our hats are off to you, guy.

Here’s where things get ridiculous: the Jammys. We attended the Jammys at Madison Square Garden excited and ready to lose. Knuckles actually wore pajamas with a second place ribbon pinned to the lapel. Somehow the people behind this thing thought we should have all access passes. Bad idea. So there we were stealing beer from Micky Hart, swapping tour stories with Stephen Perkins and smokin’ with Damian Marley while watching Bela Fleck and Peter Frampton from backstage. That’s keepin’ it PG for our younger readers, there was much more going on than just cocktails and conversation; let's just say Knuckles got invited to a sex party by the sound guy.

By the time we could see straight, we were already on our way to Burlington, Vermont, for a show with the Breakfast (www.thebreakfast.com) at Nectars, followed by a bonfire with our favorite UVM Outing Club Fest alumni. I don’t know how we partied all night with twenty to thirty people and woke up in an empty house. Do we snore? Anyhow, after a quick shower it was back to NYC for the Green Apple Music fest where we played a set at the Knitting Factory. This was by far our best New York show and if you weren’t there you’ll just have to read about it in the tabloids. After the show we went bar-hopping with Dan and the boys from Bowdoin College and our good friend Joe, I mean Eddie. We didn’t stop until the bars shut down at 4 am. I still can’t feel my lips.

This segued nicely into our show in Potsdam at SUNY to an uncontrollable crowd of six very confused students. What can I say? We’re huge. Moral came soaring back when we played Hartford, Connecticut, the next day to a packed crowd at the Half Door. I’ll always have a place in my heart for the guy that got kicked in the chest by the Army dude. Way to be the bigger man. Spirits were way high when we headed to Bowdoin College for what we’ve lovingly been calling Sophie-fest. After a few venue changes things got started in the Student Union Center Pub, aka the Echo Chamber. After a highly energized hour long set we handed the stage over to the Mathematicians, a punk-pop band of super dorks who really know how to work a crowd. If you get a chance, check them out, it will be worth your time. After the show at the Echo Chamber, we went back to our friend Sophie’s house, (hence Sophie-Fest) and played beer-pong until 6 am when we passed out until noon and then got up and resumed our game. By 4pm we left and headed for Boston where we knew the Hill brothers were waiting with a fresh bottle of Jagermeister and a couple of sloppy grins. We set to drinking right when we got to the venue, played an amazing show, and then went back to the Hill’s house to continue drinking. Sometime around 5am when the video camera had run out of tape Steve and Mike Hill took to wrestling which resulted in Steve being thrown through a French door and bleeding all over the place. Don't worry, it was only a flesh wound.

From here we went to Harrisburg, PA, a place that isn’t exactly known for quiet comfort, at least not in our circle of friends. We rocked the Appalachian Brewing Company and then kicked back at a backyard bonfire until around nine in the morning. We got what sleep we could and then played an intimate acoustic show at Mangia Qui and then went right back to partying. The next day we headed down the road to Chambersburg for a show, and then went back "home" to Harrisburg and crashed hard. After all of that we had to peel ourselves off the floor in order to make it to the show at the Stone Church, New Hampshire. The night was billed as a bluegrass jam, and that it was. A number of amazing local bluegrass pickers went on before and after us, helping to make it the best show we’ve ever had in New Hampshire. This takes us up to Vinalhaven, Maine, which held up its reputation as the best party to be found fifteen miles off the coast. If you find a better one, you let me know and we’ll be there.

From there we move to one of the best inland parties we’ve ever seen, Floralia at Connecticut College. This is a party where people start drinking at 8 am to be ready for when the music starts at noon, and let me tell you, they were ready at noon. We played to a field full of tents, coolers, slip’n’slides, and moon walks. Conn College really knows how to throw down. I can’t wait until next year. That brings us to where we are now, in the middle of the 36 hour drive from Connecticut to Colorado, which is why I’m taking the time to write this. There are still a handful of shows before this tour is done, but I won’t write about those until we’re headed out east again.