EAST IS EAST WINTER WINTER WINTER TOUR
2/10/10 – New York, New York
Sitting in a cloud above Broadway and 65th street, well almost, in an apartment my parents rent, DC canceled due to snow and I worry Baltimore may be more of the same. I moved out of my place and am in between homes. Camped out on the floor of my old place last night in my sleeping bag but needed a shower so jumped on the A train uptown. We'll reschedule these lost dates for April when we're more likely to have less chance of Blizzard. The whole of the eastern seaboard has been hit with snow like they haven’t seen in 90 years. Luckily we made it to Providence, played a real fun show there, people just started showing up, pouring in in their black ripped tights and short skirts, their art school glances, and hip haircuts, their leather jackets with bows sewn on the back, big scarves, long necklaces, red hair and pink t-shirts, beards, blazers, man they looked great. And they whooped and danced. We settled up, got in the van and drove to Nora and Nick’s. It was a true writer’s house, books everywhere, authors I had never heard of, a typewriter next to a computer at a small desk and big old chairs. Sometimes I think how amazing that must be to just need a pen and a desk.
Back in NY, we played Death By Audio last night, but then the snow started in. Now everything thing in the city feels like white paralysis, not much happening, something static. I'm not that far from the Dakota and every time I'm up here I think of John and Yoko and their walks in the parks or them hanging out in the kitchen with Sean.
2/13/10 – Richmond, VA, Matt and Marcus’s kitchen somewhere near Strawberry Street
The last week before leaving tour was good, as far as I can remember it. Went to see Frank Sherlock and CA Conrad, my poet hero, read at Zinc Bar. They quoted Ryan Trecartin in their book, its just a genius factory of artists around these days, people really going for it, and it made me excited to be alive in this time, and to know how hard artists are pushing it to have something true to say about this fantastic mess we’re in. I went to Eddie’s reading with Thusrton Moore at White Columns and missed the whole thing but ran into Jacob and Brooke, folks I knew from Philly days and this girl Julie from SF who lives in NY now. Chris and Mary met me after, we were all supposed to be on time for it and none of us were, so we headed over to check out that fancy hotel above the highline that’s known for people stripping in it’s windows. All we managed to do was use the bathroom before we walked to Le Poisson Rouge for a drink.
There was the night with Ben, went to see some art in Chelsea, Ruby Sterling or Sterling Ruby, don’t know, the show was bad the the book of his other work looked gorgeous. Got drinks at Trailer Park, went to O’s house and then went all the way uptown to 126th or something, up to Ben’s studio where he was meeting Anna for practice, but I was falling asleep so I turned around and went back to Brooklyn as soon as I got there. It felt good though to be in the backseat, cruising up Amsterdam as we waited in the car for O to find his dealer who has sold him oregano or something, earlier in the day. And Ben’s been such a good friend to me. We started as something else, but he’s talked me through some weird times. Its inspiring to hear his take on art, to hear him talk about Trectartin and other artists he feels are going horizontal and vertical. They got spread, he says, and they got lift.
I go to Chris’s with Am’s the next night, we make dinner and I fall asleep while they watch a movie. It almost makes me never want to leave.
* * *
I can’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful for my life. But it’s strange times indeed, reconciling the good and the bad of this place, global village la dee da. So much senseless violence, too much too fast, we should be more enraged, I should be more enraged, and yet sometimes its hard to feel it. And its hard to ignore all the good. So what do we have then? I don’t know.
I pass a field at night, driving South to Richmond. I see billboards illuminated in a field. Nothing on the wide lawns of grass but bright signs. Holiday Inn. Wendy’s. Funland Somewhere. The glow of the lights shining on them shows the hilly nature of the terrain and the car tracks of the truck that drives up to the signs to pull down the picture, do maintenance or make a new advertisement. It’s almost disgusting, but it’s alluring. Feels like the literal sign of our times, a hybrid between the bad and the beautiful, the sale and the message, man vs the nature of technology and progress vs the nature of nature vs meaning.
Last night we played Richmond, David was amazing in securing us a good guarantee, half off food, a case of PBR and a very comfortable place to stay with his Skyline band mates Matt and Marcus. Matt went across the street to his girlfriend’s house and I got to stay in a very good bed. I got up early and went for milk. I type as Amnon calls to the cat in the other room. Soon the guys will be up and ready for coffee.
* * *
The day before we rolled up to the Floristree, manipulating our way around huge piles of snow, residue from a storm the likes of which Baltimore has apparently not seen in the last century. Lesser comes down and shows us to the freight elevator. Matt and I make a few trips with the gear as Tim and Am park the car. The elevator gets stuck about three times and makes me panicky but I pretend not to care. People show up at the show, some having walked many miles simply to fight their cabin fever. It’s mellower than we’re used to but it’s fun. Natalie is there, haven’t seen her in 4 years. I talk to Lesser about poetry, we think the stigma is dying, its cool again man, its cool again, sell some records, and dance for a minute with Tim and Am, who have developed a one leg style for the night. It’s 2:30 in the morning. Am and I are hungry so we walk a few blocks through the snow to Massey’s. There’s a guy there who may or may not be blind with a giant digital clock around is next pacing back and forth, horizontally, in the narrow florescent hallway that leads to the register. There’s a guy with a scar on his face and I don’t know how you get that kind of scar. The food is greasy but the fries are real good and they put Bay Salt on everything.
In the morning we wake up, hang out with Keirin and a cat called Weekend, hit up an Italian market and I spill my lunch all over West Franklin street right before we leave. It takes over 6 hours to get to Virginia when it should have taken three, but we are in good spirits. The guys unload the gear when we arrive and joke about some bee-bop tune, carrying amps and singing. We park and walk past the clean Richmond streets, and I say how I want to go into one of the houses, make cookies, sit on their couch and watch TV. On tour, when we see nice neighborhoods, this is the overwhelming feeling. It’s all I want to do. I look at them as we pass the deli and realize that I am happy. That this is a lucky time in our lives, I get it, where even when it’s a little hard, there’s something about it that’s so easy.
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