Sunday, November 15, 2009

DL&Hounds Tour Day 7

Okay, seriously? You want the truth about tour? Can you handle the truth? I woke up today in Madrid having dreamed about Louisville being visited by a foreign and beguiling brown fruit that grew from every plant in the city. These dreams were interrupted by the muscles in my lower back freaking out because the bed was so hard. A bed like the one I slept in should be a beautiful thing, with powers to will a spine into proper alignment, but my twisted muscles were having none of it. I woke up at least 5 times in pain and tried to roll into a position of comfort. What could have wrecked my body so, you ask? Packing and transporting my equipment from New York to tour.

Then, tonight I plugged my equipment into the power strips at Clamores Club in Madrid and half of the electronic trash I broke my back to bring over here fuzzed out. I didn't even get the satisfaction of electric fireworks or the smell of melted circuitry. Nothing. Kaput. During our set, I tried in vain to plug my mic and sampler in and out of the remaining working components to approximate the music I have been making. Vain vain. It was all in vain.

For years I put off exploring electronics in my performance because i didn't want to suffer from being dependent on them if ever they turned on me. Tonight was the incarnation of the worst case imaginable.

Everyone else on stage and in the room were genuinely pleased with the show, and while this should have made me feel better, it only added insult to injury ...do the things I do even matter? What the hell am I doing?

But this is where the story takes a turn.... I'm in Spain. I don't know anybody, and it's not necessary with Dawn and Josh to put on like I'm pleased when I'm not. I can sulk all up and down this city and no one will give a fuck. These are passionate people, after all. They can appreciate a sulking douchebag like me.

So I sulk. And a little sulking relaxes me. I go to the bar for a Jameson on the rocks and don't care when the bartender charges me most of my per diem. I can't remember the last time I said out loud to no one "I need a fucking drink goddammit!". In a few sips, things start to turn around.

So there's a little slice of tour: the occasional opportunity to do and feel your absolute worst, but with a cool shirt on, no one will notice. In fact, chances are good that while you're in a miserable sulking state, you might radiate some kind of broken honesty that will make you glow in someone's eyes. (I had great conversations while I sulked!)

...and my shirt, by the way, is by far one of the coolest shirts in Madrid. It was my Dad's and it says, "Very Modern, Very italian, & Very Good". It was THE coolest shirt in the city until Josh turned his "Fun Is First" shirt inside out.

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