Hello, friends! Rob here.
This is it. After a spring dotted with lengthy stints at home, and a summer of weekend fly gigs, we're officially
back on tour. Real tour. Three and a half weeks of
eat-rock-sleep-drive, crisscrossing miles of country, dancing with
thousands of shining faces, making new friends, seeing old friends,
vanquishing old foes, and occasionally pausing to take a nap or to purchase
an ironic t-shirt.
We're on a bus this tour! That's the
dream, isn't it? Wasn't it? There've been a lot of "the dream”s
over the years; its kind of hard to keep track. I was talking about
my bus excitement with a dear friend of mine (who happens to be, no joke, arguably the world's most famous cross-stitch artist), and when I described my sleeping nook as a "secret chill
bunk,” she responded that there must be an entrance to Narnia
nearby. My knee-jerk reaction here was the reality check: it's a
mattress pad in an alcove roughly the size of a fat man's coffin with
a curtain for privacy. However, it occurred to me shortly thereafter
that this bunk does take me to a strange, faraway land full of
friendship and wonder, where time passes differently and something in
the atmosphere makes me a greater version of myself.
Plus, there's all these goddamned
In other news, last week's warm-up run
was the sweatiest week in the history of this band. We
played a leisurely five shows in ten days, including our hopefully
forever-annual working vacation in Nantucket (because life isn't always hard), and the average sweat drip was ridiculous. You know
it's a sweaty week when you play a festival that
literally has the word "hot” in its name and it's only like
the third or fourth sweatiest show of the week. Night two at the
historic Chicken Box in historic Nantucket was easily the sweatiest
show in band history. I was wringing my shirt out after the show was
over. My pants were saturated from waist to cuff. I hung
them up in the closet of my hotel room at the end of the night, and
when I woke up the next morning, they were still damp all the way
through. This was a mere ten-day run, for which I grossly
overpacked, and I still ended
up having to do a load of laundry.
Heat aside, the
shows were just great all around. Actually, not heat aside. Heat
very much a part. Heat is energy. Sweat is good. It was a good
tune-up for the big tour, we had a few days to rest at home, and now
we're back on the road forever. After a few confusing days of bus
and air travel at the outset, ping-pong-ing from Nashville to Chicago
to Massachusetts, we're about to settle into a slightly more stable
routine. We'll be in Westport, CT this evening for the Blues, Views
& BBQ Festival, then a few off/business days
in the area, and then we strike out west(-ish), and then we strike
out east again, actually, and then further east, and further north, then
kind of back down south and west a little bit, and you know what just look at the dang schedule. I sincerely hope we're coming
to a place where you live!
Finally, in keeping with today's theme of "wonderment," yesterday I got to sign something I've never signed before: Homework.
Normally I'm not one to encourage delinquency in today's youth, but she claimed to be a straight-A student cutting herself a small and well-deserved break. Keep on rocking, Rosie. I hope your... I don't know, Prob/Stat? teacher understands.