watt's "more light" tour 2001 diary, second leg - week 2

wednesday, march 21, 2001 - louisville, ky

   pop and right out the hatch to hoof. sun out big w/the yellow washing everything bright. thanks, sun. watch the mississippi roll by for the longest time. soothing on my mind - my mind, like a piece of driftwood on that big muddy moving cushion conveyor. soft warm on my cheek. face the sun and open my lids just tinyness, let the sun refract on the eyelashes. start to swirl, ankle swivels. lose balance, start to topple - catch yourself, watt. look around. good, alone.

   what's this? the "yellow rose cafe." why not chow here? southern breakfast. their kind of ham, biscuits. green pepper sauce from a bottle filled w/peppers - lots of vinegar and not too much heat. now let's walk that off. trollies, keep the eyes open now.

   today's the first day off of the tour. we're gonna go to graceland, the pad where elvis presley lived. he bought it 1957 (the year I was born) for $100,000 cash. I've been here before but it'll be the teams' first time. damn, I lost my friend doug rockett's phone number he gave me last night. see, I lost my address book at that banyan gig saturday and though most of it was in the 'puter, doug's had changed. wanted doug to come along and he had some stuff of craig shindler's he wanted to give me. stupid fucking watt.

   we head down the road towards the airport and you wouldn't imagine the number of fed ex planes taking off, one every minute or something. memphis is the fed ex hub and every fed ex package comes here first before it goes to its target. trippy seeing the contrails in the sky, like spokes heading out in different directions. of course there's a blow-by but we improvise a bravo and take winchester to elvis presley boulevard and head into the graceland parking lot, right next to elvis' jet planes. it's twentyfive bucks for the platinum ticket where you get to see everything. I mosey around while my team chows at the elvis theme burger pad. I go in there while they're finishing and get some good snaps of j chomping a garden one. I got the digicamera and I'm gonna get some shots of this adventure.

   we take the shuttle across the street to the house itself. eveyone gets the headphone tour tape recorders except for me. I don't want hear some pecker jawing about this shit and I ain't travelling in any pack. I want to do it at my own pace on my own. first there's the tv room. I guess that's what it's called cuz there's three televisions in the wall, all going w/different movies on them. one is "doctor stranglove," whoa. the room across is the dining room, big silver punch bowl under plastic guard. there's ropes and rails to each room to keep folks at a distance. right away, you're thinking "damn, for all his money, this ain't that big of a place. that's ok. there's the 'jungle room' w/some freaky chairs made from logs, a pool table, some white ceramic monkeys and some antlers from an impala or a gazelle and a set of ram's horns. the room is all done up in browns. in the hall there's a painting of what might be big ben from the thames and there's a little working clock in it. wow, I don't think an interior decorator put this here. next is a room w/all kinds of "displays." one of a funky white bed w/matching shaggy canopy that has a stereo built in it. then there's a little model of the house he was born in - I've seen this place in person going through tupelo. some of the e's jewelry and a bathrobe and then his desk. the books on it are a trip. there's the bible on top of a copy of the warren report, eric van danaken's "gods from outer space" (very 70s - remember, he died in 1977), herman hesse's "sidhartha," gibran's "the prophet," "the guinness book of world records," and a book on karate. there's a slot car track and a football suit where the jersey says 'e.p. ent' and a karate ghe. there's a case w/some of his guns. you're not allowed upstairs so it's outside and out to his pop vernon's office. weird, weird vibe here. there's a sign that says 'no loafing - do your buisness and get out.' next to that is a small room elvis and his guys used for a little time in the 60s for a shooting gallery. they got a box of spent bullets and casings they found there in the woodwork and on the floor. there's lisa marie's swing set outside and then horses grazing. the pads on about fourteen acres. now for the trophy room. tons of gold records, tons. elvis kitch shit like dolls and lunch pails, posters, cancelled checks, plaques, paintings of him and of his ma. lots of outfits: army uniforms, movie costumes but the jump suits are saved for the 'racquetball building' in the rear. there's like twenty of those infamous outfits there, including the 'eagle suit' from the "aloha from hawaii" satellite broadcast show. there's a film loop from it of him doing a bit of "proud mary" and some of "glory, glory hallelujah (battle hymn of the republic)" - it's a bit surreal. outside again and over to the 'meditation garden' where he's buried w/his ma and pop. j sits to contemplate in a little gazebo. nearby is a small kindney-shaped pool. so sad about elvis. they white-wash his death and say he died of heart failure. right. a great tragic figure for the u.s. all that stuff a part of our culture tell us means success and you can see just how hollow that is. the motherfuckers who robbed this cat who was a young truck driver w/a good voice, kept him stupid and kept him drugged. no one to help him. this whole pad teaches that lesson clearly. I'm done w/it. I take the shuttle out by myself, pass those gates and see all the names people have written on the bricks of the estate's outer wall. now they're famous too, huh? I go get a bar-b-q pork sandwich and then make my last stop in his car museum. there's some nice rides: the pink caddy his ma liked, a ferrari, a mg, stutz bearcat, suicide-doors lincoln continental, rolls, precilla's benz and four motorcycles (two of them the harley amf kind and one a honda!). there's a little post office and I send a post card of elvis shaking nixon's hand after getting a honorary dea badge. no way is elvis on any kind of a drug in this shot! then out to the parking lot to wait for the rest of the team.

   damn, it's like four - we gotta move. I really don't dig driving at night and louisville is like seven hours away. time zone too (lose an hour). I'm glad I went to that graceland place again though, so bizarre. when we stop at a flying j gas station (one of my favorites), I get some "ass-kickin' hot peanuts." this is tonight's chow for me. "kick yo' ass hot" - right. they're ok but certainly not "kick yo' ass." the jive shit people use to sling shit, damn. driving in the dark also doesn't allow you to see shit so it's like riding through a big tunnel the whole way to louisville. barely can see the corvette musuem as we roll through bowling green. of course, w/all the trucks and night construction, there's some big plugs but eventually we pull in about midnight to a red roof inn. I'm just glad we made it safe. I konk grateful. but before I do, I get online and download an mp3 of the medley we did live for john peel's bbc radio show a couple months ago in december. it was made up of "everything flows" by _teenage fanclub_, "range life" by _pavement_ and "in a rut" by the _ruts_. j wants to put it in the set and we spaced on the arrangement. luckily, jeremiah, over at freakscene.net has it and flowed me a link to wear I can go grab it. thanks, jeremiah. slow connect from here will make the xfer like an hour and a half so I just start up and then go konk. I think everyone else went out to a bar or something. so ends the first night of the tour w/out a gig.





thursday, march 22, 2001 - louisville, ky

   pop and tub soak for almost an hour. fuck it. hoof time next. where right by the airport ups uses for its hub (hey, it's a hub tour) and it also doubles as a strip for the kentucky air gurad. lots of big gray military cargo planes and brown-ruddered ups jets. security warning signs everywhere so I turn about and head for the other direction. eat some pork chops. mmmm. what makes pig meat taste so good for watt? tiny freemason hall across the road next to the cemetery. 'boaz' lodge. that's the name of one of their two big pillars. some birds catch my eye - a redbreast robin, hoppin' and bobbin', bueatiful - I remember these from being a boy in virginia. I have a long honk-talk w/some big geese at a pond in the boneyard from the fence 'til the groundsman comes by on his sit-down mower and gives me the eye. so it's onward down the road. which way is the sun? it's in my face so I'm walking eastward. who the fuck cares about direction? can't help it, I'm a compass-kisser. it's always on my mind. get some backwoods at store and have a good think. I cherish this quiet time I have for myself in the mornings. the company of men can be stifling at times. sometimes I feel like why not save the entertaining for the gig and the stage but then again, cats can enlighten you w/righteous things they say. it's the banter, just to fill the air w/words that clutters up my mind in a way. if someone has something they can teach me, I'm grateful but just to warm the air by moving molecules w/spiel breaths can really tire a listener. like talking about what's a good hotel and what's not as good - christ, it drives me nuts. I'm very thankful for the alone time.

   I gotta a spiel w/a newspaper in sarasota, florida and I do that over the phone. the cat's a bass player too so he don't need as much explaining to relate to my fog experience. we talk a lot of bass but obviously, this ain't gonna make it to the article or maybe he can somehow creatively work it in. I wish folks had a better idea of what bass is, how it fits in w/music and what kind of people operate such devices. I try as hard as I can to work athat kind of shit in when I spiel so it's not such a generic "rock piece." forever trying to keep from being marginalized by stereotypes, this is everyone's struggle - not just mine.

   do some diary, there's no hellride cuz that got done last night. in the afternoon, I take another hike down the road and find a q place called "the pepper shaker" and get some chili w/an order of green beans. this is homespun, not a chain and it tastes great. midwest style chili w/spaghetti in it. I dave it up to get it to shoot some sparks. the green beans are tasty too. ok, that's my last meal for the day. j and george went into town earlier so david comes and takes me and eric to the pad we're playing tonight, the _phoenix hill tavern_, a pad I've played once before. a "theme" place, it looks like a version of the disneyland "country bear jamboree" ride. two go-go dancer cages even. the p.a. speakers are set real wide so if you're up front, there's no way you're gonna get singing. we flip the monitors around to face out to help. the stage is one of those "coming out of the cake" ones w/no sides, like we're getting served up on a platter. we have soundcheck or at least try to. j and george have already checked, seeing how they were here earlier and now it's watt's turn. now I need like two minutes tops. just a few notes and ray's got me in there like that. but where is everyone? why'd they take off. after like a halfhour of standing up there by myself, I say fuck this and go to band room. it's across the parking lot in another building. the story is that they guy who owned this in the 70s had this part built to bone the girls who worked for him at the club. it is fully fixed up that way w/a big couch upstairs, mirror on the under the cieling fan and a tiny bathroom off to the side. whoa, how much swim team been spilt all over this? fuck it, I sit on the sofa anyway and do diary. what hillarious decor, so many mirrors. I have to say though, I'm fucking pissed, feeling like getting no repect - what the fuck is this? when those guys do show up, I say to george: "man to man, can I ask you something? how long does it take me to do a few notes for ray? why couldn't you hold out that long for me?" man, is a damper in my pamper. I'm letting him know I'm mad. I love george but this is total shit. later he talls me he's sorry - he asked someone where there was coffee and they made it seem like it was real close but it wasn't at all. see how tour is? the littlest things can set you off. that's why I need space. and a little respect, not much, just a little. we patch things up and even start to learn "the red and the black," a blue oyster cult song me and d. boon played since we were thriteen. in fact, I've played this tune w/almost every band I've ever played w/cuz I dig it so. it always makes me remember of when me and d. boon first did it and how it felt to play a whole song w/him. we did tons of creedence songs too but roy mendez-lopez, this fantastic guitarist who made his own instruments and lived in his car taught us those. this one we actually learned ourselves off of the record. it was a watershed moment. I always get thata feeling when I play it, always. it's neat george wants to do it w/me. all that earlier grief just fades away.

   I go back to the band room and upstairs to the fuck couch to chimp more on the 'puter. john from the verdes comes up to change to his "stage clothes" - this band uses outfits that are save for performances. he uses that little bathroom and takes something else at the same time cuz god damn, does he stink the fucking place up. christ, bro. time for some backwoods for sure. I don't see their set, which is a shame cuz they are one great band. folks gotta check them out. my old friend charlie, who played bass for _anastasia screams_ and the version of _urge overkill_ where king ed went to guitar (traitor), comes by to say hi. he almost lost his finger in a whisky bout but he says louisville has one of the best hand departments w/medicine and they saved it so he can still bass it up. it's good to see him. good to know he can still bass.

   good crowd inside and we climb on top of the "cake" to begin the gig. man, is the deck sticky - maybe from old duct tape, maybe from swim team - who kows? start off w/"mike's house" and this girl up front in the middle just keels over, whoa. someone helps her up and then back to the bar. we keep rolling. scary to see that happen but it's great to see folks wanting to help out right away, people looking out for each other, gives you faith in your fellow humans. in the bass solos for "get me" and "back before you go," the wooly mammoth pedal is failing hard and I just gotta play them straight. the level is actually weaker instead of the boost it's supposed to be getting. damn. hope ray compensates at the board our there. I have to say, this man ray is a good cat - I dig both his manner and his work ethic. trippy how music brings you in contact w/some righteous people. sure, there's a lot assholes but that's their fault. I feel fortunate to have the chance to work w/folks that light me up. you gotta realize that from the stage, you have no idea what you sound like to the crowd. that part is totally w/the man w/the knobs in his hand, the cat at the mixing desk. it's really like that w/bass cuz the low frequencies develop from far your amp due to the long wavelengths involved. david, the helper man is happening too. he's had to learn so much so fast but he takes it stride and never freaks or throws a bunched-up panties fit - he soldiers on w/a smile on his face. I really feel lucky and am glad for j having such key cats involved w/helping him deliver his music. I feel like I'm like ray and david, each of us doing our part to help get this boat down the river and have the freak flag fly free and furiously. it's a trip and I dig it. what providence to have splendid hustle in the trenches w/you. I wish the truck had more room so I could ride w/them. I feel a kinship w/them.

   these louisville folks are a kicking crowd and give us great spirit back up to the stage. I'm honored to give it all for them. I hope I kind of tripped them out too. I know some of them know me from my work and some are seeing me for the first time and for both groups, I hope it gives them a mindblow of sorts. can't thank j enough for the chance, for the opportunity to help re-define myself by helping him rev this power trio up. there's no bigger for me than to bring someone I respect so some happiness by working the bass. great getting to wail w/george too. if both of us together can aid and abet, to make the fog happen for j, then that's what I call success. I sing only one other tune myself tonight besides "I've had it" (we always do that one leading directly into "repulsion" oh, by the way - before we did "I've had it," I dedicate it to the folks who put up these flyers using the exact art work of black flag's "the processing of weeding out" album cover. I say "thanks for letting us in on the big black flag reunion here in louisville." of course, there isn't any such thing) and that's the stooges' "I got a right" and it's the closer. we play this one so intense, the drum monitor (the speakers george uses to hear the rest of the band) blows up and starts smoking bad. ooh, what a smell - the smell of electricity torquing hardware. we're called back up for an encore and j uses the keyboard for the first time this tour to do "more light." I get behind george like I usually do for this one and give him some neck and shoulder rubs while j revs the tune's intro on the keyboard. he's got a guitar strapped on too and plays that when he's singing. it's quite a sight to see him work both machines. kick that one out and then "little fury things"to close the show. good gig, I dug it.

   this is kentucky, the home of bourbon and I just gotta have some. cats come up and talk to me about bass, of course they play it too and want to talk a little shop. I get a rose from a girl player and then this guy tells me about him and his girl each getting almost the same kind of bass that I'm working. they were both born on the same day too, xmas. they're now apart but still live together. he starts talking to me about egyptian stuff, then john (the verde singer) comes over and starts talking about his pop and his two cats, how he and his pop both love cats. hearing this, I gotta express my love for cats too, dearly. the man was w/me for seventeen years, what a true friend. lucky watt. I start telling about egyptian reverence for cats and stuff about bast, a goddess who was like a link between this world and dreams. another guy has a relative who held political office in this state for like forty years and wants to talk politics. pettibon told me bourbon was always a politcal drink. ok, I'm getting going and spiel hard/fast but then look over and see j, waitin'. don't like to make that man wait - hell, I don't like to make anyone wait cuz I hate waitin. I excuse myself and take my position at j's elbow. a man's gotta know his limitations.

   we roll for the ho and I roll and bundle myself in the blankie on the deck, propped against the bulkhead. w/this whisky in me, I don't want to do much traveling if we take on list (wink wink). the mind is swirlin' and like water down the drain, I'm pulled down the pipe to sleepytown.





friday, march 23, 2001 - cincinatti, oh

   pop and do another hour-long tub soak. third time I'll hoof this route. I like to keep an eye to the ground when I'm hoofing and this time I find something kind of trippy out in the ho parking lot. it's a copper-jacketed slug from a gun. whoa, armor piercing - looks like a thrity-something caliber that got shot into the air and came down. heavy duty stuff, though. definitely for killing people. I think I'll keep it for a tour totem in my pocket. it looks like it did hit anybody, thank god.

   pork chops again, just want to smell and taste them - I have such a craving. the only meal I really make kind of a big chow usually on tour is the morning one. my stomach gets just too nervous the rest of the day. gigs work watt up. we're driving to cinci today to play our first friday night gig of the tour at _bogart's_, a pad on vine street I've played many times. in fact, since I've been doing gigs in that town, I've always played on vine, either at _shorty's_, _sudsy's_, _top cat_ or here. trippy, huh? it's by the colleges, maybe that's why. helper man david is from here and he's trying a way to get into his pad to konk in his own sack, seems he doesn't have a key and there's room mate weirdness. he tells me how gentrification is happening in his neighborhood, like all the hoods in this country that the yuppies covet and want to seize. assholes. even in cincinatti. I don't want to get started on this cuz I will go off. hopefully david will get into his pad tonight and in the long run, hold on to it.

   at soundcheck, I tell j about my problems w/the wooly mammoth pedal and he thinks it's busted. to replace it, he gives me a blue box made by fulltone called a "full drive 2" pedal. I test it out and it seems to work great. tonight I give it a shakedown. also during soundcheck, j shows me a dinosaur song from the "bug" record called "budge." neat tune. we're gonna go for it in the set tonight. much respect to him for having confidence in me. I think I can do it.

   j goes a couple doors down to check out stuff at "mike's." the rest of the team goes across the street to sudsy's and does their wash. that was the great thing about playing that pad when it was happening. I miss it. I don't do mine though - I need time by myself. same thing w/chow, I pass. there's a third band tonight, _thistle_, and one of the cats in the band interviewed me for his mag, "pigeonhold" - he gives me a copy. love zines, that's one good things I see about the internet: the ability to promote a zine-like culture where anyone can write whatever the fuck they want and don't have to ask permission from any kind of "gatekeeper" (ie, publisher). I think it promotes the spirit of what part of the founding fathers were trying to say w/some of the constitution's first amendment. zines were so important in the old days of punk and I think this is one way to keep some of those ethics that came w/it still alive. that's why watt's got his hoot page. no middle man, no fram to filter. watt in his own words. like this diary - letting the freak flag fly.

   the verdes are next and john gets to sing for his wife, she came down from cleveland for the show. I stay downstairs to chimp though. I'll watch them tomorrow in nashville. I can hear them through the deck above me and it sounds great. I get really inspired by these cats - it's so great to tour w/them - I've taken them on two tours myself. j and george dig them too. friend chris rees and his little posse come to the back door for passes as does scott burns and a buddy. aaarrrggggghhh, so late in the game and I can't find eric (he's doing wash), I wish I could get this info in advance from them. they gotta understand that I'm a sidemouse here, it's not my tour where I'm the boss and can just make things happen. they're cool people but I gotta have respect for j. I tell them both this and hope I don't offend them. I'll try to do what I can. this last minute shit though is such a pain in the ass. for everyone. I know they didn't mean it.

   it's time for us and we head for the stage. start w/"thumb." j's been writing some great sets, keeping things diverse yet having good flow and a path that makes sense on a lot of levels - not just rolling dice. great crowd w/the vibe they're giving back and man, do we play tight. george is right fucking on tonight. great lead guitar too, we got three of the big wailers for that in the set - besides "thumb," there's "get me" and "mike's house" which are open-ended free-for-alls for the j-ster on the solo mode. he works his machine up good on it too, smoked and smoldered. we try out the new tune for me, "budge" and I get through it. some clams - I gotta remember one of the riffs better - it's kind of like the pistols' "holiday in the sun" sounding for me. I'll get it together more for next time. I don't blow it out of the water though and for that I'm grateful. george helped me through it pretty good. thanks, george. tonight is the first time that I can remember where we don't do "amma ring" but that's ok. I only sing "I've had it." however, when we come back for the encore and after "more light," j asks me to do "I got a right" so we can do it more justice and get out hard. last night, george had trouble w/this tune cuz of the blasted drum monitor choking him w/plumes. a pit breaks out, that's funny.

   we're done and I'm soaked. damn, I gotta bring an extra shirt in w/me for after the gig - gonna catch fucking pneumonia. good thing I got the levi jacket or it'd be shiverville for sure. bad enough the whole front of my jeans is wet like a bib for your gut (or "bell" like what george hurley likes to call it). we go south across the ohio river into kentucky to konk in a town called eranger. there's construction so of course our exit is walled off 'til the last minute so we blow on by, damn. we weren't going fast enough, obviously. a loop gives the rememdy it usually does and we pull in and I can't say enough about how relieved I am to peel these wet garments off of me. whew. konk comes quick too. I played real hard and think we did our best gig of the tour yet - the band was really hooking it together tonight and the folks gave us great support. onto the deck by the hatch and complete that equation: energy out for gig = energy in through sueneo.





saturday, march 24, 2001 - nashville, tn

   pop and get to the lobby for some free shovel. we're in a comfort inn and it seems most of these have some kind of chow handout before ten. no prob for me cuz I'm up at the crack of dawn. not a full-on thing like in europe but some bagels, cereal, orange juice, coffee - shit like that. david picks up on this too and I see him down here soon after my arrival. we share the chow space w/what seems a big christian convention or something. I have fruit (probably from a can) and a couple of bagels. no pork today though I've had it almost everyday of this tour. dig it.

   go to hoof, there's nothing much around besides a couple of filling stations, a couple of "gentlemen" clubs and a rehab center (flying a marine corp flag out front!) next to a cement plant. good, don't have to worry about anyone in the way. the sun is playing hide and seek w/some thick clouds. for a moment, a pyramid-shaped hole opens up revealing how thick those layers are and then, you guessed it, the hole moves to bring the sun at the top of the pyramid hole, showering light shafts down from it against the surrounding darkness - almost like that device on the back of the dollar bill. that was something. only lasts a few minutes 'til the wind has its way and closes the hole, hiding the sun. there's a little bit of a coldness going though w/this breeze. when the sun does get shown, I can feel those shafts even though I might not be able to see them. spring is coming, right? well, it's hear chronologically anyway and that's gotta mean more sunnyness so I get some dark lense glasses at one the gas pads to supplement my yellow ron asheston's. same shape too, just dark dark amber to look through. I have a good think out here, walking around free of traffic, free of people, free of time. it's when I can actually get the chance to try and reconcile issues that tear my mind up. nothing gets "solved" but I do find kind of a solution to getting through those kind of tortures. I just gotta think things out and that takes time and some calm analysis. I can let the panics run themselves tired 'til they fall down and let me have some peace. I'd rather not have to be distracted to deal w/these things by ignoring them. they're just gonna sit and fester anyway. I've tried that way anyhow and it was futile. I like feeling the feelings now anyway, even if they do torque me. this is where watt is now days.

   we go south on I-65 towards nashville, where we're playing tonight. we pass the maker's mark still and I start thinking whisky. whoa there, cowboy. that was ok the other night but I like not being on it lots of the time. that's also where I'm at now too. kind of a struggle but that's where I want to be. I save those times now for very special stuff and take it out of everyday living. we come down pass the corvette museum. I've been here a few times before but I don't think these guys are much interested. we do stop near it though to piss and I get some 'dines. well, they're actually herring chunks in louisiana hot sauce but almost the same thing. good chow for watt in the van. they keep forever almost too.

   we cross into tennessee and then maybe thirty miles from nashville the traffic turns into a giant plug. damn. we're here for quite a while 'til we make it to an offramp and take a surace street to get where we're going. eric's got this neat reciever for satellite gps beacons and w/the accompanying software, can place the van right on a street map in real time while we're driving. the problem is it eats batteries like a motherfucker so he's ordering an adapter to run it off a cigareet lighter socket in the van. we're playing the _328 performance hall_, a brick warehouse made into a club that I've played a bunch of times before. I remember the sound being pretty bad unless you were up real close. oh well, all we can do is our very best. ray (our soundman) seems like a cat who really cares and goes into each gig w/everything he has. I use his headphones in the dressing room while everyone goes to chow to write down the arrangement we used for that peel session medley. 'puters can help out in trippy ways sometimes.

   the verdes start their set, this is their last show w/us 'til chicago. I get right up front to catch everything. man, have a week of gigs got them tight - their set is slamming. all of them: john, frank, chas, dave and mark - all playing together so well. they flow right from one tune to the other, like a big cobra verde opera. john changes lyrics on the fly, like putting in "tv eye" and saying the band is from pedro. later he says there from cleveland via pedro. amazing show and the rev up the crowd good. funny to hear stuff shouted out like "y'all rock" and "hell yeah!" but it's genuine. these cats really put it down tonight, I am revved up more than you can know.

   my team just makes it back from chow during the last tune. turns out that the boss of this club isn't here and his assistant screwed up and put the verdes on early. oh well, we'll go on early too. I ain't sweating that though cuz early is better for watt. looks like they went to the coffee store or something cuz there's all kinds of packages of coffee, coffee makers and mugs. I guess they shoveled heavy at some thai pad. I can't play well at all if I stuff before I do a gig - better for me to go on hungry. j uses the ibook to make a set list fast. he want's "tv eye" first - great! we haven't done that one in a bit anyway and I don't think ever had it first. ray plays the buddy rich pep talk and we know it's twelve minutes 'til go. I start w/my levi jacket on - damn, I can't sweat it out tonight - why didn't I take it off? fuck it, I get into the tune big time anyway cuz I dig it so. I shake myself silly. j's got his guitar set to 'roar' and it's a banshee. george is sounding kind of sloshy, maybe too much chow? he ain't blowing it though, just a little bit of a rough ride. when we get to the coda, I put the little bass down and get the levi coat off. probably looked like some econo version of a bowie outfit change or something. I go and grab the mic to do that last little bit of the tune and suddenly we're done. bet no one coming to a j mascis show expected that! very generous of the purpled plinker. thanks, j. next is "blowin' it" and that wails too. intense. we slow it down w/"alone" next but I think it's the shortest version we've ever done. I play it very minimally, I just get that take from it. for me, listening to each other is what being in a band is all about. j's that way too - he hears everything. later, when we get done, he asks me why I cut loose my solo in the end of "mike's house" and I'm thinking how the fuck could he have heard me over the guitar torrent he was letting loose? the man is in the moment, that's how. it's amazing. we move to another slow and steady, "where'd ya go?" and the slosh is a little more apparent here. I keep the eyes keep going between j and george to make sure I can stay on the one no matter where it might happen to be. I see dave from the verdes on j's side and as a fellow bass weilder, I wanna do good for him, send him off to cleveland w/feeling of well-being about his choice to bear both the burden and the bounty of the big four strings. "waistin'" is next and I blow a clam in one of the choruses. it's just one note but shit watt, get it the fuck together. aaaarrrgggghhh. so much better now days than during that first tour where I was clamming all over the fucking joint. next is the stooges' "no fun" and I clam some of the words this time. damn. get it together, watt. I do, somehow (maybe cuz I make a mental appeal to someone I've been thinking of since the first tune), and "same day," "all the girls" and even the new one, "budge" come out good. well, I kind of clammed coming and getting out of the last one. still gotta know what's going on there a little better. j's playing the tele in a lot of songs, he also brought his esquire too which is like a one pickup telecaster. they both sound so great. we go from "little fury things" to "mike's house" and then "back before you go," where I use the new "full drive 2" to help me solo w/some bonus sustain and oomph. it's great, I can really dig it. a new bass experience for watt. thanks again, j. a rousing "the wagon" and then a shorter "amma ring" than what we usually do. moods are different, gigs are different, performances are different - I can get behind that. fuck autopilot, cruise-control and walking in your fucking sleep. we come back and do "I'm not fine" and "freak scene." happening gig.

   dave, a friend of j's who had a band called the _silver jews_ and now lives here in nashville comes backstage to visit. he only caught the last few minutes. when I tell him my middle name is david, he says "michael david, how hollywood." well, catching the last few minutes of a gig is pretty hollywood too! just kidding, I'm glad to meet him. soaking wet, I forgot again to bring a dry shirt and am cold. we get in the van and yes, a dry shirt - all the difference in the world. we get to the hotel and there's been a huge latin wedding. I take the stairs up cuz the elevator has tons of folks waiting. I take the stairs every chance I get. elevators are scary and the workout's a good thing anyway. get the heart pounding, that's a good goal in life, I think. I strip down out of the wet and get to the deck quick. everyone's all coffeed out of their mind and wants to go to a bar called the "goldrush" (recommended by david) but not watt, he's down for night and so is his mask - right over the eyes. konk comes swift and sure withing seconds. rest crazy body, quiet insane mind. out.





sunday, march 25, 2001 - st. louis, mo

   pop and straight downstairs, fuck soaking or hosing off this morning. they got the biggest spread yet for chow at one of these comfort inn things (other times it seems we're in fairfield inns but really, who the hell cares? I don't. ho's have never impressed me). put down some of this, there's soft-boiled eggs and england muffins, coffee, orange juice lite, etc... morning ballast. what's really important is that the sun's out. thank you! you can see downtown nashville from here good, we're about ten miles northwest of it. the most noticeable thing you see is the bell south building, looking sort of like one of the towers for a suspension bridge. we're right off the interstate we need and it's cut by a highway that's pretty deserted - I'll go hoof on that one. there's a cat cleaning a lot and asks me for a cigarette. ain't got one but I offer a backwoods. he takes that, lights it up, digs it and thanks me. the wraps up a hill and around, hardly any buildings which is great cuz then there's no shade to freeze your ass in it. dig getting bathed in the sun when you're hoofing in a chill like this. at least no rain - thanks, weather. it's sunday morning so when I get to a phone a couple miles up I call my ma back in pedro. I like to call her on sundays. when I'm in my town, that's the day I stop on my morning bike ride to have a chow w/her. just machine, she might be w/my sister. ok, more hoof.

   I'm out quite a bit a get back just in time to see j loading his bag (or dolphin) into the van. go to get my 'puter (I hardly ever bring my clothes sack upstairs) and george is still futzing w/his new coffee deal. at least no clouds of mota like yesterday where we had to get out of dodge quick cuz the maid got talking w/the desk clerk. I told george to watch that shit. funny how he bitches about the backwoods smoke but has no problem risking our asses w/the law concerning something stupid like that. I find all kinds of contradictions w/him like that. like all through the south and midwest I got to hear him rag like some closet redneck on how podunk and hick these places are, how they got rotten coffee, trailer homes, funny accents - you know, princess shit like that and it burns me up. he's hardly played these places and passes judgement just so fucking matter of fact. I have to say it's very difficult for me not to get so negative on him. I have to heal myself of this sickness cuz I really do like george but can't tolerate the some of the blather he fucking drenches me w/sometimes. I can't believe that, knowing me, I'm not gonna challenge some of these stupid fucking assumptions and generalizations he is constantly serving up. it's all the united states here and people usually don't pick where they're born. like when we got to nashville and he said it was more of a "real" city than memphis. I get the rand mcnally map and show him memphis has over 100,000 more folks than nashville. it's easy to pick on george about this cuz he sets himself up so big time. all the guys in the van have a definite northeast bias and I don't dig that. maybe I got a cali bias. I do know this, though: I do have a respect for any town that will have me come play, no matter where the fuck it is. every town has a certain percentage of assholes and cool folks. they also got a big middle of goofs who don't know which way to go and blow w/the wind. that's every town - that's what over forty tours have taught me. the real differences between towns is in geography and weather - people are people. you gotta give them a chance. I should give george a chance too, these experiences of him travelling around should educate him some. just wears on me though. sure wish there was more room in the crew truck so I could ride w/david and ray. david lives in cincinatti and ray in houston so they don't have the same butt-load full of 'tude. I can't dig it. it's fucking redneck as you can get, just a different style of sheet and hood. the shit really wears on me.

   then there's princess shit too like "it's too cold in the van." instead of him putting on a coat and thinking about others might feeling different than him, it's piss and whine. so, I gotta take my shirt off to keep from suffocating on shvitz-like conditions. I peel an orange to eat and there's bitching about it smelling like chemicals. boy, is this shit petty or what? I can't believe I'm wasting diary writing on shit like this but it's really getting on me. thank god for the diary writing so I don't have to fucking engage that much and can be myself. somehow, I must be feeding this situation. I can't change somebody but I can try to change myself. I will make things better. I'm here to both learn and help j and being one end of a flint and match paradigm ain't gonna help things. it's a five hour drive up to st. louis and it's a quiet ride except for maybe talking w/eric about boats or cruise-control on vans. we get cross the mississippi river and take the belt north around the town near the airport and get a hotel there. day off tonight already though I gotta say, steve kaul has put together a lot of five or six day in a row stretches and I give it to j to agree to this. days off can really kill your momentum and you can imagine the money thing - "when you're not playin', you're payin'" as the saying goes. another fucking 'issue' arises. I ask eric if we can get a smoking room cuz a lot of hos I've found don't dig you smoking in a non-smoking room. george goes into princess mode, dons the tiara and throws a shit-fit. ok, fine - I'm staying w/the crew guys, enough of this stupid crap. I'm working for a solution here, I'm not getting mired in petty head-butting, this is stupid. to me, to tour is to play gigs - play the best you can. everything else is secondary. I wonder if something else is bothering me cuz I can't believe things are building to such a shrill tone. I have to investigate possibilities to make things more calm. trouble is, my mind is not a calm thing. I can do better though, I know I can. this is not just george's fault, I am a fucking go-off and a lunatic. the man is a very sweet person and you can't help but love him. I have to get my shit together.

   the academy awards are on. yawn. ray puts "south park" on and there's a funny theme about civil war re-enactments. I do diary and after a bit, konk early. that's what's neat about popping early, easy to go out later.





monday, march 26, 2001 - st. louis, mo

   pop and soak, head downstairs (fuck elevators if I can help it) and shovel a bagel, banana, juice and coffee for free. thank, fairmont inn. the sun is solimente and painting everything yellow but damn, is it cold! I head out to hoof and my nose is running a little bit so what happens? the mocos freeze right to the mustache part of the beard, that's what. brrrrr. at least no rain though. I'm totally grateful. head along the semi-french road to a gas station and buy some $1.35 jesrsey gloves to help w/the chilled hand joints. hoof about this ho that's being renovated called "noah's ark." the restaurant associated w/it is built w/an 'ark' fascade. pretty funny. they only got two pairs of animals so far though, all cement - a pair of giraffes and two elephants - though the elephants aren't together, one's doing an iwo jima flag raising about fifty yards from the other one w/the giraffes in between. at the other end of the lot is a caboose. I remember talking w/ed fROMOHIO about ten years ago in the boat on tour and he was telling me that the train companies were selling off their cabooses cuz of 'puter automation made their role obsolete. he said they were selling them off cheap. I started figuring it might be great to have one or maybe two of them for a pad! just get some empty land in pedro and somehow get them planted there. they got bunks, kitchen, head, desk - hell, great prac room up top w/lots of windows for a good view. nothing ever came of that though, me and kira got divorced. I don't know if should would've been too much into it anyway. she always did think I was nut. I'm glad we're still good friends today. we're gonna do another _dos_ record when I get some time from the touring.

   I get back to the ho, rev up the 'puter and do some flow. w/this ibook and good local connects, I can get that going again handily. keep the diary posted up more recent too. sometimes email can bring such a heavyness though. if you can believe it, watt gets shut up pretty much the whole rest of the morning and most of the afternoon. it's only during soundcheck when we're re-learning that peel session medley I come out and interact again w/my guys. we're playing _blueberry hill's duck room_ which is now part of what was called _cicero's_ back in the fIREHOSE days and we played w/the _screaming trees_ here - I brought them out on their first two tours. I can still remember that gig. we blew the p.a. out on the first note of the first tune, mimed it the rest of the gig cuz of that. where you played was in the cellar. this blueberry hill place bought it and knocked down the wall between the two basements and that's where this duck room is now. not sure if chuck berry owns this place but it sure has a lot his image all over (hence the name "duck room" - from his infamous move, the "duck walk"). duck kitch in cabinets on every wall down here, including comic books, toys, commemorative jim beam bottles, you name it. upstairs is this one cat w/a beard in pictures w/all kinds of folks, from eric clapton to milton greenspan. more cabinets of kitch too, from rams to cards to simpsons to kiss to beverly hills 90210. little dolls of everything. a guitar from chuck berry too. I get a salad w/a hunk of grilled tuna and chow that. the I rearrange things w/my amp stuff. j want's the svt-II put in the foam padded case cuz to protect the tubes so I take that off of the stack w/the 4x12 and 2x15 cabs and put it on its side next to the 8x10 one. then I move the marshall super bass head (in a white marshall major box) to the top of the two cab stack. on top of the 8x10 I put my korg tuner, finally I can ditch that lame-ass boss pice o'. the korg dtr-1 is the best tuner I've ever used - fast and easy to read. I remember back in the minutemen days when we thought it was pretty bourgeois to use a tuner. we used our ears and kept relative to each other. we'd end up like a step and half flat by the end of the set! j's told me about seeing the minutemen at the channel and some cat he knew (gerard?) was so impressed by this. jesus. it was just us trying to find our way in a world of conformist 'rock,' we weren't really trying to impress anyone. before we got here we stopped at a music store and j was gonna get another "super hard-on" to replace the broke one but I like this "full drive 2" one much better - it's great.

   back to the trouble I get w/writing my thougts. its definitely a skill to say what you actually mean and get that understood. that might happen here in these diary pages too. what might seem to me clear as rain when I wrote it might be all full of shit for someone else. hell, I fucking blow it by leaving out words, jumbling tenses and screwing up syntax stuff too. I get too far ahead in my thinking and forget about the footwork it takes to make shit actually understandable - the transfer of my thoughts to the reader. this has given me problems to no end. sometimes it brings both me and others, ones I very much love, big sadnesses. what I hope is to get better at it by doing it more, try it make more of a second nature thing so it's like I'm thinking out of my fingers. that's one reason I dig doing diaries and email and the like - it forces me to improve upon my lame fucking ass. I have to tell you, I got this tour diary I did in 1983 (black flag and minutemen u.s. and europe tour) ready for this book I got coming out later in the year and I couldn't believe the retard scrawl I got going there. god damn. embarrassing beyond belief. I don't think I was a born writer but I can get better maybe w/prac. like the bass - I don't think I was a born entertainer either. thank god for d. boon for getting me into it and inspiring me still but I gotta really work at it to get it both together and myself further down the road w/it. speaking of watt on bass, there's a funny preview of the show tonight in the new river times by paul friswold:

...joining king mascis for this tour is none other than uncle mike watt and his fantabulous thunderbroom. watt has been known to play lead bass, rhythm bass, backing bass, punk bass, funk bass, invisible bass and, of course, econo-bass, and he's the also the reigning heavyweight champ of the boc (bass oyster cult).