Michael Meyer sent me this tour diary AGES ago, and I was a slacker and forgot to post it. Meanwhile, they're already planning the next batch of out-of-towners. Listen and pick up a copy of their new record Temples into Tombs here. But, without further delay.. here's the epic conclusion to Narco States' rust belt tour...
Day 5
Woke up with a dying van. It’s antifreeze blood pouring out on the already hot concrete. A shudder of doom went through me as I anticipated a bill larger than we could ever afford. We located a garage less than a mile away and pulled up to discover FAT BOYZ auto body and custom shop. With such names as Bubba these men towered over us with height and girth. Walking Giants with greasy hands.
We told them our situation and were surprised to discover they were empathetic and willing to get us on the road as soon as possible. Expecting a new radiator with labor and a bill of $700-$1000 I felt my heart drop. The woman working the counter was very sweet as she reported to us that the Boyz got us a used radiator and with labor it would be $325! We made nearly $300 the night before so it was heartwarming to know the tour would survive.
After an hour it was finished but there was another surprise…
The Boyz listened to our music while they were working on the car and dropped off another $100 because they liked our tunes! This kind of luck is unheard of! We took pictures with the whole crew in front of their banner as we cowered with smiles under their gargantuan size.
We were back on the road.
Philadelphia slapped us each in the face at the same time. Damn! Roads are tight. Buildings are crammed together like tombstones in the Cimetière du Champdè. Stone, steel and wood suffocating the people and traffic. Slowly growing together until the roads are barely wide enough to drive. Everyone seems angry as they honk with the consistency of fist blows on a punching bag.
The club is small…barely a coffee shop, barely a venue. More of an open room with confused furniture and random records milling about a make shift display.
The staff is friendly in a detached, unconcerned sort of way. Although the young girl who is serving drip cups of coffee and insufficiently melted grilled cheese has an intense passion for stick tattooing. Something I only associate with Oceanic tribes and bored teenagers in their bedrooms. My cousin still has a crooked cross on his shin that he intended to be an Anarchy symbol but he grew bored and left it how it was.
The opening band surprised us with a really cool versed out psych sound that was incongruent with their Pittsburg bro looks.
We went on and gave it our best as we always do. The size of the audience was pretty decent and although they watched with intensity, they seemed uncomfortable with what we were doing. Not ready for what we were laying down.
Still a solid show.
We sold enough merch to feed the van and ourselves.
The last band were very young and reminded me of Sid Berrett but more than likely have a musical tree that only stretches back to Ty Segal. Still, they brought the psych swirl with painted faces and bare feet.
We blew town immediately. The uncomfortable feelings in Philly only grew as we spent more time there. We were told stories by locals of constant muggings and jumpings. We were told not to go out to our van because if people saw activity they would think something valuable might be in it and would definitely break in.
It felt more like a prison than a city…the dudes got their Philly Cheese Steaks and we the non-drivers drank a lot of beers and we were off…
Our next stop was Brooklyn, so we rolled the dice on a cheep motel in Jersey and anticipated the climax of the tour. New York City.
Day 6.
My wife Stacy used to regale me with stories of her visit to NY. She was a dark and pretty little artist and her model aspiring friend explored the city and hung out with celebrities and punk rock bands. I’ve seen the polaroids and wanted to have a similar adventure to tell her.
Mine was quite different.
First. New York Pizza is one of the best things to exist on this planet! We ate pizza at a little neighborhood gem pretentiously called BEST PIZZA. Vile, sexually explicit hip hop blared inside as families ate the thin giant pieces, laughing and talking as if the constant references to “pussy” simply meant the fellas house cat. Still the food was completely delectable. We would visit a few other times that day.
We checked out the sights. Walking around in a tight, sweaty, smelly little conformation. Like an Oliver Twist gang of midwestern orphans.
We stumbled around Greenwich village discussing the folk history of the place and finding landmarks that we have seen in black and white photographs of our favorite musicians. I watched children play and splash in a fountain in front of the Washington Square Park arches where Ramblin’ Jack Eliot entertained countless impressionable folkies in the mid-sixties and Bob Dylan strummed his guitar with wavering voice pretending to be rustic because he grew up in the romantically named Iron Range in Minnesota.
Well we are here now Mr. Dylan…so move the fuck over!
We lost our minds in Times Square. I think that is what that hulking overload of human decadence is supposed to do the fragile human psyche.
The show was in a very gentrified but still hip area of Brooklyn. Reminded me a lot of Uptown Minneapolis. Where the ghosts of true hipness hide behind the disgusting cleanliness of the physical manifestation of architectural masturbation.
There was a comedy show happening before our show. A mix of Improv and Stand up. Although it was more a mix of cringe and eye rolls. An inside joke that we were not a part of. Everyone in the audience but me seemed to be some part of the show so they were essentially laughing at each other and fawning over themselves. As a devoted lover of stand up comedy it was painful for me to watch. Unfunny and inaccessible. I drowned my boredom in alcohol.
Finally it finished and we had a great show. Both bands we played with were dope as hell. While we thought there would be no connection made in New York we actually felt a kinship with these bands. We all played to impress each other and complimented the hell out of one another. Already bruised…I added many more rolling around and slithering on the floor.
Later I was asked to check out some clubs in NY. This was an calamity that continued to mount.
Some highlights…
I was ushered past half block lines of desperate men and women wishing to get allowed in. I was let straight in after my host introduced me to all these mountainous flesh bags called bouncers as “A rock star”…”The next Jim Morrison” etc. I got MUCHO free drinks and was allowed to make fun of everyone to their faces, because you know…”I’m a rock star”!
Some lowlights…
I was thrown out TWICE from this first place but brought back in by the bartender and once by a bouncer I befriended (my host was MIA for a long while)! I called my wife and apparently put on a type of Hedberg style one man stand up routine for her about how I didn’t give a fuck about any of these people, they were disgusting…etc… (this was while standing in the lobby near “these people” all giving me the evil eye.
Back at the hotel the other NARCOS were drinking and partying, and in retrospect, I truly wish I had stayed.
Only a short time after arriving at the next club I was left high and dry by my host, who supposedly “partially owned” it. He was nowhere to be found as the meatbags ushered the living dead out into the street. He was supposed to be my ride back. I picked up my phone to call an Uber and it DIED!
At this point I befriended a rapping homeless man and bought us both a slice of pizza. He entertained me with free verse as we sat on the sidewalk watching the drunks stagger by.
As the sky was lightening I walked around in a daze of confusion of my next step. I kept flagging down taxies and NONE of them would take me back to the hotel. They wouldn’t leave the city.
Finally I begged a cabbie to drive me and it only cost me $140! What a deal!
Aaron was still awake when I came stumbling in at around 6am. He was NOT happy. Worried all night and was unable to reach me. We had a little scuffle…actually the strong bastard was well on the road to kicking my scrawny ass when Nick broke it up!
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| Aaron (right) was NOT happy. |
The rest of the morning was quiet and somber as we drove silently to NEW JERSEY for our next adventure.
I was hoping we would all break into “Tiny Dancer” and all would be ok but it didn’t. Eventually we would get the gang back together but it would take a lot of heavy talk and a whole day in meltingly hot New Jersey to do so.
Day 7
So we somberly drove to Montclair NJ. The heat was overwhelming, miserable, and did nothing to improve our already frayed nerves. We found a parking garage and set out to explore.
My hangover was intense and I was suffering from lack of any sleep so I held up in the public library and read for a bit, until I began to doze. As the other guys browsed in a record/book store I slept in the van. Sweating puddles on the floor. It was more of a confused oblivion than sleep but I felt much better when I woke.
We killed the day in coffee shops. Sipping the Black Blood of Christ and pretending to be doing things until night fell and it was time to find the club.
We discovered a nondescript door sandwiched between two restaurants on a pretty posh looking block. Above the door a sign simply read “Basement”. We gained entrance from a Mad Max extra with dreads that hadn’t been loosened in 30 years (probably containing the fossilized remnants of hundreds of species of insect). The damp Lovecraftian stairs led us to one of the “punkest” and yet disturbing clubs I have ever attended. It was a cave. Plain and simple. With all red carpeting and graffiti that stretched back years. The dreaded sentry sat in front of a literal pile of old television sets, keyboards, computer parts and musical instruments. That stood like a post-apocalyptic monument to a society long since wiped out by nuclear disaster. In this mess there was one working television broadcasting some old sitcom. He seemed raptured with it and made no conversation or indication that we were even there.
Robb described the overall effect and condition of this space as “abhorrent”.
It would continue to get surreal as the other bands loaded in and we saw they were teenagers! The club is all ages and these bands were taking full advantage. There is a strange phenomenon right now. A type of “nerd core” which has permeated the younger generation. It seems to be split between a gender neutral 80’s euro-nerd look, (I have seen many berets and stonewashed/pegged jeans) and a type of Dorky parent look. Kaki pants and lame printed shirts (cactus and sea life style prints). My annoyance at such squareness shows my age as I have become the quintessential Gen X’r who “just doesn’t get these millennials”.
Anyway the show actually turned out alright. While there were many, many confused and shocked faces. The kids actually danced and let loose a bit and gave thunderous applause. It was cool. We pilfered a stockpile of water from the other bands and headed out.
Due to a caveat we were not aware of, we did not get paid anything for performing (Goddamn New Jersey!) THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN NICE TO KNOW before hand by the promoter. But the door guy and some friends bought a lot of merchandise!
We were all sober and drinking our stolen water as we finally got the hell out of Jersey to see what Ohio might have to offer.
Day 8
Cleveland Ohio…I think is the home of Drew Carey or at least his now defunct sitcom. This has no relevance, but the Cleveland Rocks line in his opening song does.
Cleveland does Rock!
We arrived at the Happy Dog restaurant. A rock and roll bar that also serves ungodly huge and insanely loaded hot dogs and vegan dogs. We were amazed upon entering. The place was huge and had a really hip feel to it. Nice stage, Huge bar, and a Ripley’s Believe it or Not pinball game! It could be the sister to Minneapolis’ own Grumpy’s downtown bar. We felt at home instantly.
We got FREE FOOD, and two FREE drinks per member! Having basically run out of money after the NY debacle I was extremely happy for this!
Soon we met the other bands…Cigarette Playdate and Public Squares. They were all very laid back and cool. We all agreed that this was the exact type of place and show we had expected to fill our tour itinerary. It was nice to experience different vibes and spaces, but this seemed like home to us and all anxiety passed.
I was not long before we met two of the most interesting fellows on the trip. Two old dudes who grew up in NY before coming to Ohio. One of these cats who reminded me of a newly showered, hundred pounds heavier, Charles Bukowski, entertained us with stories of the emerging NY punk scene of his youth and told us how he went to high school and was good friends with Dee Dee Ramone! The two old dudes had an art show obligation but promised to return for our set. They did.
Public Squares are great. They dress like robot aliens from the future who “are sent to save rock and roll”. they have a very Supernova feel to them and since Supernova is one of my very favorite bands I was very enthusiastic about them.
We played gang-busters. As the band pounded away behind me thrashing around the stage. I climbed on the bar, in the window sills, and on the amps. Taking death defying leaps from surface to surface. It was a spectacular performance and we cleared out the weak hearted leaving a still substantial core group of excited spectators.
The final band Cigarette Playdate spun the mood an amazing 180 degrees with their slow, smart Mazzy Star style Indie folk.
We left happy and partied a little with the drummer from Public Squares who let us crash at his pad. All the stars aligned this night and we felt like the trials and tribulations were over and all was well.
Day 9
We woke up early and went to one of the BEST RECORD STORES ever. Almost all classic and obscure garage/ Psych / Prog from the 1960’s and 70’s. Both Aaron and Nick bought records that have been eluding them for years! We were also able to unload some merchandise to the shop even though they barely carried any new releases.
Attached was a WITCH MUSEUM which I waited patiently to open and was the first one through the door. I saw artifacts from Anton Lavey and other prominent witches from the early part of the 20th century and spoke with the owner at length about the contents and history of the museum. It was fascinating!
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| Trident wand that belonged to Aleister Crowley, circa 1929. |
This was a great cap on a great tour which although trying at time will help shape our lives and music for years to come!
