With my sojourn across the Midwest and South complete, I have returned to Pittsburgh renewed and refreshed. I’ve been on tour with the dumbest band in the world for the past ten or so days, and while the rock n’ roll business has confirmed all my suspicions as per its dwindling sustainability and shortsighted, foolish gestures by paying the most moronic of bands more money than we could spend legally before a van mishap in Memphis, it’s nice to be back at my computer instead of huddled in a freezing ball on a floor in Milwaukee, fighting off the wind slipping into my sleeping bag, and becoming physically engorged with the thought of a hot shower, plentiful and cheap fruits and vegetables instead of greasy road fare, and the ever-beckoning call of clean clothes and sheets. I took a lot of photos and saw a lot of cool things on the road, so why I don’t I catch everyone up?

Up above you can see Rot Shit with Paul of Now That’s Class. We (l-r: Count Drugula, Charles Horse, Big Schleep, and Haywood Jablowme, Paul) and unseen roadie Wild Bill look a little worse for wear at 10 AM, but after a rough night in Cleveland (despite Paul’s always welcome hospitality and a very good set by local metal stalwarts Midnight), driving to Chicago was going to be a pain, especially given the sub-zero temperatures that somehow find a way to seep through every crack of Count Drugula’s rickety van. Here’s a picture of Midnight I stole. They’re the real deal.

This is Cleveland Toilet Face:

Eventually we made it to Chicago. Chicago in January is the coldest and most uninviting place I’ve ever been to in my life. The wind chapped our lips and made us groan like dying trees as we walked down the street. We were due to play at the Town Hall Pub in Boystown (a gay neighborhood on Halsted that was extremely clean) with Daily Void from Chicago and TV Ghost from Indiana. We showed up in town around 4:30, and since we had absolutely nothing to do, we huddled outside the club in an alleyway in our van for two hours, attempting to sleep until the doors opened. When I finally could take no more and decided to walk inside, I was greeted by a sultry bartender in a low-cut shirt who bought us shots of booze. Why we had stayed in the van, I have no idea. But I kept dozing in and out of REM sleep somehow while standing up, so I asked the bartender where a gay bathhouse was so I could take a steam. She rightly informed me that I was probably not smart to enter a den of ill repute in a foreign city, especially since I’m not into guys yet into steam rooms, so I decided to take a nap in the van before the show started. I curled up in the van with my sleeping bag, two other sleeping bags, and a heavy jacket with all my winter gear and somehow caught about thirty minutes of shut-eye.

Soon, I woke up to a loud scraping noise. I noticed that the van was backing up slowly through the tiny alleyway. However, this did not compute since there was only one set of keys between us and they were in my pocket. Then I looked in the driver’s seat, saw no one, and realized the worst: the van was getting towed with me in it. Frantically I attempted to throw open the side door, but I was blocked in by the wall on the left side and an upcoming telephone pole that had the option of either ripping off our door or my leg. I screamed and waved my arms at the driver to stop. After about ten feet, he got the message and slowed to a halt. I ran out the door and attempted to get the ponytailed Mexican in coveralls to drop the van from his truck, and he obliged after screaming at me four times while I tried to pick up the keys that I dropped while wedging myself out between a van and a brick wall in ten seconds before being killed with the same methodology of the bug scene in Temple of Doom. Everyone else was inside and had no clue. Were it not for my nap, we would have been out about $400, plus have lost all our gear as well. This was probably the best thing I could have done, so I felt vindicated thereupon for the rest of the trip. Now back to the show…

The opening band Curtains hadn’t done much for me, but both of the other bands put on a live show of the highest order that I got the chance to check out back in December when Burndowns hit the road with both bands in Ohio. Daily Void, as you probably know by now, are ex-Functional Blackouts. Their new LP is out on Dead Beat now and you can expect some churning, eye-twitching punk of the wacky variety, fusing together the feel of infinite space, burned-out urban America, and the slithering creatures you’ll find leaving trails under a rock in the yard. TV Ghost are young men that seemed to have trudged out of Nowhere, Indiana, turning heads with their unpredictable, static-drenched, mind-numbingly catchy live show all over the Midwest. This night proved no exception as they battered chairs, amps, and each other over the course of thirty minutes until the carpeted floor was strewn with equipment and stools. I watched an errant punch shock one of the band members into a rage before he retaliated and was rolling in a ball on the floor with a random showgoer and yet still pounding out every note on his instrument. Sadly, this was the last night where I took no photos, so I can’t back up my account with photographic proof. However, if you’ve been coming to this website since last July, perhaps you can feel safe knowing that this evening was a righteous example of squalling guitars, hoarse vocals struggling to rip over the noise in the room, and a bar with some great spiced hot cider for the more hungover of us (me).

We picked up our new roadie/driver Kevin of Pink Reason at the show, as well:

And luckily, my lovely friend Miranda happened to show up, and she and her roommates saved us and cordially provided a large living room and multiple couches to rest on until we headed out for Minneapolis the next day. Cue the “Rest Music” from Final Fantasy VII.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been on tour or not, but if a band’s van has windows, I am quite content to look at the landscape and America’s various interstate oddities for hours when not reading my book (which I’ll get to later). However, in the Midwest in the dead of winter, here’s what you get to look at all day:

No amount of ice-scraping, sleeve-rubbing, heavy breathing, or screaming at the window in disgust will remove the frozen shell you’ve Han Solo’ed yourself into, so you get that for eight hours straight. Fun? You bet. I love looking at water stuck a foot from my face.

In Minneapolis, our show was at the Alamo House. While this place had the average dingy upstairs peppered with fliers and beer cans and the faint aroma of finally graduating community college, the downstairs housed the most incredible basement punk club I’ve ever seen. The walls were splattered with poorly done graffiti with band stickers on everything else. But the stage rivaled any club in Pittsburgh and it sounded stellar from all points in the room. Luckily, we were playing with one of our new labelmates and a current young favorite of mine, The Retainers:

These guys have ripped both times I’ve seen them. Their harsh brand of near-hardcore speed and pounding loud lo-fi punk hooks/screams are enough to drive even the most staid member of your collector nerd circle crazy, and I can’t say enough good things about them. I believe they’ve got about four singles now, so pick up whatever records you can. I started back last year with the Teenage Regrets EP on Fashionable Idiots. It should still be in print, so pick it up. After that, we crashed at our new bosses’ - Andy and Eric of Fashionable Idiots - humble abode. They’re obviously the worst, but their roommate Kim is a much more suitable person to converse with. I was quite stoked to learn about storing LP’s in shipping mode at all times and to peruse some great issues of Distort fanzine. The next night we had a show at Memory Lanes in Minneapolis, so after waking up, we literally had to do nothing until about 11 PM.

Kevin took the reigns the next day, and we trudged through the snow to go visit his friends from Wisconsin that had been transplanted north.

We met up with Lindsey, Brady, and the rest of Kevin’s gang and began pounding beers as fast as humanly possible. Here’s some pictures of us sitting around doing nothing, which in case you didn’t notice, is what you do on tour pretty much all the time.

Wild Bill says “Fuck you, Drugula!”

I walked down to the liquor store with some dudes and bought two cases of beer. It was pretty great to buy Hamm’s again since the one time I did in college. Apparently the liquor store has some sort of significance to someone, since Wild Bill pointed it out by name, but I just took a picture of it and bought my hooch.

So we eventually made our way over to the show. Much like Asbury Lanes in New Jersey where Drugula and I played in the Radio Beats years back, we were to play on a large stage overlooking the lanes. The opening band, Cortez the Killer, were one of the limpest slabs of sub-Wilco alt-country I’ve ever heard. They played for forty minutes and were ruthlessly heckled by Eric. Then after Kevin pulled new drink tickets for everyone out of the garbage and I went to go get a free fancy beer, Eric pulled me aside and said:

“Stop there for a second. When you start playing, I’m slamming a piece of pizza in Vinnie’s face.”
“Awesome. Do it, pussy.”

Then Rot Shit got onstage and he did:

Drugula also eschewed pants during every set on tour after tonight:

I discovered I had lost my wallet (AGAIN), but I luckily held onto the cash and ID I had in my pocket, so I was out one debit card, one credit card, one guest yoga pass from back home, a Carnegie Library card, and a server room key from work. All were replaceable, and I could still buy booze everywhere, so I chalked it up to a small loss. In reality, maybe it was a blessing, because once I sweated the ID compartment brown, so I think it is officially time to admit that buying anything from American Eagle in the South Side Works is a bad idea. I’ll pick up a new wallet today anyways. But let’s get back to the tour. Later that night in Minnesota, Kevin had the world’s smallest hork.

I did my best to call someone in Carbondale, Illinois for a show we could hopefully get on two days later before Memphis. Here was the message I left.

“Hey Ben, this is Steve from Rot Shit. I’m up here in Minneapolis with Fashionable Idiots and we need a show in two days, so if it’s at all possible, could you please call me back at 412-478… *SHUT THE FUCK UP, DRUGULA!!!!!*, anyway, man….”

Hence no show two days later.

From there it was onto State #2 I had never visited, the lush rolling greenery of Wisconsin. The lush rolling greenery was obscured by a foot of snow, but there’s something to be said for imagination in my book. We were playing another house show at a place called Mint Mint Chocopocalypse with Holy Shit! and the Goibbledoimbs. House shows are definitely the best way to play, in my humble opinion. There’s always a couch to hang on or a secret bedroom to disappear into in case someone bothers you. Luckily, all the WI folks I know are top-notch, so I was happy to see folks like my man Paul from Tuff Bananas:

Goibbledoimbs (billed as Goibbleshit to fit with the band names already on the bill) were really a stellar stupid punk band. I would assume their theme is their tune “I”m Stupid”, which got its hooks in me from the back of the room and drew me right up front. A great three-piece who I believe could fire off a single as stupid/life-affirming as the Sneaky Pinks EP from 2005. I definitely hope to hear more from them.

Holy Shit! was up next, and this was the second time Rot Shit played with them in our band’s duration. They keep getting better and better and their live show wasted no time in bowling me over yet again with their thrashing mad irreverent hardcore. Getting to see Eric Schultz drum in any band is always a treat, and I thoroughly believe playing a show in which sets last between six and eighteen minutes per band is always great because it leaves me plenty of time to meet new folks and run around drinking beer and yelling.

Here’s Tabman in mid-thrust:

I hung out in the kitchen for a lot of the night standing by our awful merch display.

These kids were really nice. Cute couple.

Perhaps I forgot to mention that by this point, all of us were freezing our blood in the Midwestern winter, and on top of that, our van ceased to start. After receiving five jumpstarts within a twenty-block trip, we realized that we were on a collision course with the dreaded spectre of Tour Van Problems. I was less than overjoyed by 3 AM in Milwaukee:

We woke up in Milwaukee hoping for the best, but spirits were low since we were unsure how much money we would have to drop to get our rolling pile of crap back in working order. In addition to whatever battery/starter/alternator problems we may have been having, I believe I forgot to mention that the van pulled in the other direction whenever brakes were applied, was big enough to be significantly jostled by the blaring gusts of wind on the highway, and was so dirty and covered in beer and garbage that I vowed to stop and clean the whole thing the second we got to Memphis and were no longer jerking off Old Man Winter. I actually did accomplish that, too. No thanks to anyone but me.

So after buying a battery for a hundred and forty dollars, we got back on the road to Memphis. But since we had no show in St. Louis, we spent an entire day in the van. I don’t want to discuss that. It was not fun. We reached Memphis at 4 in the morning, hoping to stay with April Novak (which had been promised to us). However, after arriving at her house, we found she was passed out drunk in her bed. After beating on the windows and waking up her cat, two neighborhood dogs, and probably creeping out her entire block, we noticed that she simply pulled the covers over her head and fell back asleep. Since it was 40 degrees in Memphis, I felt like I was walking in South Beach, until I realized I had to sit in the van even longer. I had had enough and told Drugula to text message Alicja Trout, who was so kind and generous and let us into her house to pass out on her floor. Luckily I don’t think we woke her baby up, but the next thing I remembered was staring at a hardwood floor and more glad to be stretched out than I had in my entire life. Alicja was a doll and even cooked us breakfast. You can read about that on 7-Inch Slam. I had a glass of her merlot (shut up) before we headed out to find a place to attach a new brake pad to the van. The cold weather had stuck our brake calipers in place, which we thought would at first be an easy fix for a real mechanic since we’d bought parts. We drove around with one working brake trying vainly to find a place that wouldn’t completely rip us off. No such luck. Three-hundred dollars later, the hilljacks working at Midas had earned another pickup truck payment, the biggest dope dealer in Memphis had returned to town on the news, the girl sitting next to me learned about Rot Shit, and we had drawn eleven fliers for a show we hoped to play at Kevin’s house in Columbus that never materialized. But we did draw some hilarious fliers. I’ll post a few here. If you get offended, tough shit, there’s nothing I can do.

Here’s the Drugula flier up close:

Here’s some more:

By now we’d also decided that aliens smoking pot and asking to be “taken to your dealer” was the funniest thing in the world.

You can read all about my soul food adventures with Clyde at 7-Inch Slam in a day or so. From there we headed as quickly as we could to the Goner store to sell off some records and finally see the place I’ve dumped so much money at online over the last couple years. I was not disappointed. Think about one rack in your record store being this great:

Jay Reatard walked in before us and went to conduct business with Eric O., so I didn’t meet Eric or Zac, which sucked. But luckily, my boy Joe T. from Rat Traps and TSOT was working the counter. Here’s everyone buying some stuff, I didn’t pick anything up because I had to save money, but I saw at least 75 records I would gladly buy were they to make their way up to my humble city:

After that, we headed over to Murphy’s. We met this guy when we walked into the joint. His name is Kevin and he was the nicest person I’ve ever met in my entire life.

He bought two 7″s, two CD’s, and two shirts within five minutes of meeting us. In addition, he bought us drinks, told us we were going to be in the movie he was making about a character exactly like himself (which I’ve thought of doing at least three-hundred times), and introduced us to his friends with names like COWBOY (see middle of the picture). These guys were all DUDES. And I don’t mean that they were kinda cool, nice guys. These were fuckin’ DUDES. Also, my main man Bubba from River City Tan Lines made his way there, and seeing that guy is the best thing that could have happened. No pictures (damnit), but I hope to get down there again and chill with Bubba and T-Money.

Everyone in Memphis is nice. We met babes, too. Hey babes!

The openers were Vile Nation.

These kids raged hard during their set and quickly won me over. Ripping youthful hardcore that also managed to exude a toughness that betrays the dudes’ in the band kindly excited demeanor. They were kids, and very cool ones at that. I didn’t see if they had a record available, but I’d pick one up if given the chance. We were up next, and I like to think we didn’t disappoint. April Novak took some photos of us (yes, apparently she woke up at some point), and I’ll have some more to add soon:

From there, we had to literally run out the door and drive to Columbus (no time for love, Dr. Jones). Kevin and Wild Bill held it together for the ten hour horrid night-time drive.

We ended up in Columbus the next day at Rich from Psychedelic Horseshit’s house. Rich is one of my favorite people that I’ve ever met in my life.

Kevin got some well-deserved rest:

We hung out and decided to go to the Times New Viking LP release show in a large fancy auditorium. The Feelers and Ponys were playing as well. As much as the word “fop” was tossed around on this tour, generally pertaining to me and my fancy ways, this was the most foppish crowd I’d seen in a long time. Proof that college kids still got it in the humor department:

Here’s the hallway leading up to the show. I can feel the Senior Art Show about to jump off at any minute.

The Feelers killed it right away:

We went to the backstage area because “we got it like that”. I began eating all the fancy food and drinking the bands’ beer. Here’s what you see in Fancy Town when you’re in a band:

Dudes with their ladies. Aleks from the Feelers and Megan.

Dudes being dudes. My main man Matt from P. Horseshit and one of the cats from Sword Heaven, who was very cool.

Rappers. This is Tony. He raps under the name Envelope. He was very cool and down to party, as well. Columbus is a fun town. I dig his rap style as well. Glad to hear white people can’t only make emo rap.

Dudes falling asleep. Drugula and JG from the Feelers.

More babes being fashionable and shit that won’t talk to you.

Fops killin’ it in the dressing room.

Women be hatin’. Megan and Beth from TNV.

The Ponys were up next. I went out to give them a look and they were just alright. I enjoy their records quite a bit, but live I didn’t catch any of the swirling psyche cacophony that people described their live set being comprised of. All I heard were new songs played tightly by a band that didn’t move. The singer was also wearing the world’s largest sweater. I dunno how people do it. So I can’t say I hated them, but I can’t say they made much of an impression, either. I stand by all of their vinyl output before this new LP, though. I haven’t bought it or listened to it much. Who cares?

Times New Viking closed out the festivities. They were not bad at all and definitely stepped up their live show from when they played with Clockcleaner in Pittsburgh at CMU. I heard their new LP on Matador in the van on Kevin’s iPod and I must say they’ve really honed their chops when it comes to songwriting, especially on the track “(My Head)”. As soon as my debit card returns, I’ll pick one up. All in all, I can’t complain about seeing this show. I got fed, got drunk, and got to run around like a big shot. Can’t say it was better than playing a gig, but it’s not everyday you can steal from a college. I know I’m a fan.

We headed back to Rich’s house and did not play a party with Pink Reason. Our show with the Feelers and Vegetative State at Cafe Bourbon Street was only a day away. Rich called Little John AKA Dink and he drove from Pittsburgh for some ungodly reason. Eric Courtney was not convinced so easily, so he never showed up.

Little John then drew an odd flyer for a show that had already not happened the night before.

Here’s Sister, the dog at Rich’s house, for you lames who can only look at animals on the internet.

After that, we drove to a shit mall and snuck into the new Rambo flick. Mind-numbingly brutal. I was amazed by people being cut in half with machine gun fire, but quite bored with a movie with no actual exposition, story, plot, dialogue, or resolution. Whatever, it was free and I was wasted:

Things began to get silly at the club when we got there that night. We just wanted positive vibes, maaaaan. The theme of the night was “PEACE”.

Somehow when you’re in Rot Shit, hot babes will wear your stupid hot dog buttons.

The opening band, MOTO Virus, attached a tape recorder to the ceiling. We gave it some silent love.

There’s not much more to describe. Here’s some dumb pictures of us being morons.

Vegetative State are so fun to watch. This was my second time seeing them and I keep thinking of Jerry O’Connell in Stand By Me when that guitarist gets into it. He is the shit. These kids have a record out on Death By Noise. Once they buy some new threads and new gear, they’ll be big. Mark my words.

Rot Shit was up next.

This might have been our best set all tour. We walked out to 2 Live Crew’s “Banned in the USA”.

Here is the only time I’ve ever lifted my guitar during a lead part. This one is for posterity.

We waved goodbye to the crowd to the Looney Tunes theme song, which I like to think has never been done. I’m done actually doing work on the tour now and will simply just be for the duration till I get back to sweet sweet domicile.

The Feelers were up next and they destroyed. ‘Nuff said. Some of my favorite people and one of the best punk bands in the world.

We stopped at Rich’s house to grab the last of our stuff and hit the road. I drove us home to Pittsburgh, parked at my house, grabbed my stuff and said “I’ll see you in a month. Later.” I was over it. When I came home, it turns out my mom had stopped by my apartment and my bed was made. I really couldn’t complain.

That’s it. Rot Shit’s last show ever is March 17th. Our records are both out of print on Big Neck and Fashionable Idiots. I’d like to thank everyone who helped us, fed us, got us wasted, Kevin and WB for driving us and helping out, and anyone who took pictures or helped me be just a little bit lazier. Remember, if you want to see what I ate, head over to 7-Inch Slam. I’m finished.

Peace, assholes.