It's 4-20! Phil's birthday! Some pot smoker I am...I didn't know what 4-20 meant until Travis and Phil explain it to me. Phil is 24 today.
The routing of this tour is so bad Travis and Malcolm are convinced our booking agent is out to punish us. Seven hours back north to Tallahassee! Lord have mercy! We are loading in gear 30 minutes before doors are supposed to open, but no one is stressed until the soundman tries to impress us by playing the radio spot for the show. Hearing all of the hits mashed behind the monster truck-announcer voice, Travis screams "I hate the fucking radio!". Amen, brother. We sound check and get out of the way of the openers who will barely have time to line check. (Sorry guys.)
Jason Fresta is in town to join us for the rest of the tour and help out. He and I walk to Moes where I have a really nasty burrito. Moe's sucks. When we return to the hotel room, there is much intense talking before we head to the club. Rick the manager from far away is called. Life on the road needs to stay healthier than this. Everyone resolves to get through this run of shows but there is no denying we are already stressed with the routing, lack of sleep, and close quarters.
Before the show at Floyd's Music Store, Malcolm, Travis and I each poop backstage and use towels because there is no toilet paper. Then we play. Whimsical is played for the first time on the tour. A friendly face from that horrible Florida tour from four years ago pops out of the crowd in mid set and literally stares Travis into messing up "Dirty Road". "Provider" gets some new juice. Travis is feeling the need to conduct Malcolm and I as we play which is a little distressing for everyone. We are still in search of the divine cohesion.
Phil says that the stage-side soundman reminds him of Nathan. "Sometimes I catch Nate's vibe in people," he says. After the show I meet a couple who brought their son(s?) to the show. The man is bearded with cherubic cheeks and warm eyes. "You look so much like our friend," he says. "I am your friend," I reply. His name is Nathan. The guys from Psychedelic Blues Train are at the show.
Afterwards, Fresta, Phil and I watch drunk college fools exiting the Daquari bar next door and causing fights in the parking lot. We don't leave town until 2:30. Our friend from way back tells Travis and I that the evil tour manager from our last tour returned to Florida to see her and was arrested for stealing an oxygen tank from an ambulance. Shortly before dawn the plan to stop at Fresta's parents house is aborted. It is the low point of the trip. I am relieved to check into the hotel at Port St. Lucie and sleep.
Touch Peel and Stand
Shelf In The Room
Dancing With The Wind
Touch Of Anger
Pertetuate Rigorous Ghost