Monday, April 23, 2007

Muso Tour Diary, Part 1:
Then, somewhere in Arizona, we smelled smoke

So it's taken a month, but I finally got around to recording our road adventures. Enjoy...

The trailer was a problem before we left Silverlake. The Uhaul cube we hitched to Josh's Forrester made for hairy 30 point turns. So when it took 10 minutes to turn around on Angelus Ave, it seemed like a bad omen.

The first 6 hours to Albuquerque flew by. Happy to be on tour, the traffic in LA didn't bug. Or the heat in Barstow. Or the $3.40 we had to pay for gas in the middle of the desert. The conversations inevitably became "road trip conversations", which are like "waiting in line at Disneyland conversations." We talked about beards for a long time, how we all have them, how they're a hipster staple now, how we should open a bar in Echo Park for hipsters with beards. This bar would be called Beardo's. Or should it be Beardos, no apostrophe? Could girls get into Beardos? Of course! Girls and guys with ZZ Top beards get in for free!

Then, somewhere in Arizona, we smelled smoke. Not reassuring brush fire smoke. It was more like "oh shit my car is totally on fire" smoke. Then the Check Engine light came on. We pulled off to the shoulder and popped the hood. Parker checked the oil and I dug around for a flashlight while traffic whipped by us. All vital signs looked good, so we blamed the trailer for its extra tug. We kept driving a car that smelled like it was on fire for another 4 hours. It was our only choice. At this point, we were late. Actually, after a couple more check engine stops, we were HELLA late. And hella isn't a word I use lightly. Or at all, really.

1 hour after our set time, we shot into Albuquerque. When we'd called the club owner from the road, he said "just get here as soon as you can, and we'll see." Luckily the street we needed wasn't far from the freeway. Unluckily, traffic was stopped for 5 blocks. Saturday night in downtown Albuquerque, and apparently there's only one street where people go.

That was it. We were delirious, ancy, and ready. But the sad truth settling on all of us was we'd just drove 12 hours to not play.

I got out and ran.

Well jogged, really. What's important is that, while navigating around bass-thumping SUVs and through crowds of frat dudes, I felt like Dustin Hoffman at the end of The Graduate, only much, much nerdier.

When I found the sound guy in The Atomic Cantina, I said, "Hey we're Muso from California and we just drove 12 hours with a grip of car trouble and now we're stuck in traffic but we'd like to play. You know, if that's cool."

Our set that night was on fire, fueled by all that anticipation and stress. It was a punk crowd, so we cut our piano songs and dropped only bombs. They seemed into it.

Afterwards, the very cool staff hung out with us while we loaded the trailer. The trailer. Our nemesis. On Day 1, it was still limited to strategic loading and ropes. Nevertheless, it took 30 minutes to pack. 30 minutes isn't that big of a deal, unless it's already 3am and you have to wake up at 7 and drive to Dallas.

We drove to the hotel and napped.

Click here for pics from Day 1.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Plot summary for John Rambo (2008)

The next chapter finds Rambo recruited by a group of Christian human rights missionaries to protect them against pirates.

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