Timmy Sunshine & The Conductors: Gooood Times

This year on Memorial Day weekend, instead of going to all the barbecues and picnics we were invited to, or Ski to Sea, we climbed into 1976 Dodge Tradesman and headed over Stevens Pass. There were two rules: no brushing your teeth and no washing your hands. We headed straight to the nearest shopping center and purchased a bottle of whiskey, two boxes of wine and a Miller High Life 18 pack. After a quick stop at the service station where we found out the coolant reservoir had a hole in the side of it, we were on the road! Yee ha!

We hadn’t gone far before we realized something was missing. At our last gig, in a devastating show of bare handed, guitar rocking prowess, Zack ceremoniously tore all six strings off his telecaster. We were going to need more of those. We made a quick stop into a bright orange building on the side the interstate and then we were back on the road! Woo hoo!

Procrastinators that we are, it wasn’t long until we realized that the traffic was very heavy and we probably should have left a few hours earlier. One hour till load-in and we were running around the van doing Chinese Fire Drills in bumper-to-bumper stand still traffic. Suddenly, there she stood like a beacon of hope on the horizon, the quaint mountain town of Sultan. First stop: Txt Ur Tacos where you can order food by text. The dining room is small, the prices are low and the portions are large. We filled our muzzles with tacos and burritos and the best Carne Asada in Sultan. We’re talking taco truck quality!

With our bellies full, we headed across the street to Loggers. We killed a little time playing horseshoes on the two horseshoe pits in the back while they cleared the Texas Hold ‘Em gaming tables off the stage. That’s right folks, besides karaoke and horseshoes they’ve got gambling, too! After a rousing show in which we established a deep emotional connection with every individual member of the audience, we were on the road again! Hoo ah!

We drove about six miles where we spent the night in Gold Bar. Everyone wanted to be a gentleman and give Kristi the bed, so Zack and Timmy spooned; Jarrod, Evan and Adam slept in the Van and no one slept in the bed because Kristi also wanted to be a gentleman and slept on the couch. After an amazing breakfast of pancakes, eggs, High Life and Sponge Bob, we were back on the road! Yippy skippy!

We stopped at the top of Stevens Pass to let the engine cool and our fingers freeze while we played a few songs for some foraging Pica and Marmot. Timmy reminded us that it was buy-one get-one Leprechaun day in Leavenworth and that we had better get going. And we were on the road again! Caloo calay!

Before we played the show, we stretched and sunned ourselves on the roof of the van like lizards while we played “Slap The Bag.” For those unfamiliar with this marvelous game, here’s how you play: Take the bag out of your box of wine, (Vella’s push valve works better than Franzia’s twist valve), take a drink from the bag of wine, slap the bag to the satisfaction of the others around you. If your slap sucks, you drink again. If your slap is good, you pass it to your friend. It’s that simple. Some people think it’s a dumb game and we call those people right.

On to the wonderful outdoor beer garden of Leavenworth’s Munchen Haus where we played to an amazing crowd. The beer was flowing at the speed it should, the brats were sizzling and came with a choice of 20 different mustards and the audience was warm and receptive. The dancing and laughter were contagious as we rocked through the night till closing time. After the show, we drank tequila around a fire with Jarrod’s parents. We got Jarrod’s Dad to play Slap The Bag and at one point his Mom said to Kristi, “Move it bitch, yer blockin’ my heat!” Ah, good times!

The next day Adam jumped a bike over Evan, Zack and Jarrod went shooting guns, and then we all went for breakfast at Krystall’s Restaurant in Leavenworth to have Bloody Marys made from scratch by Terry who tends the bar in one of the swankiest lounges we’ve been in. Umm… Let’s see… Then Jarrod hit a car while parking… We all took a nap in a park… We got some free beer for “being in a band,” that was cool… Then we hit the road again! Kowabunga!

We headed back to Bellingham stopping along the way at the Pause, Rest, Worship mini church on Highway 2 to play some music. Was it really a tour? We drove away in a van. We played music for strangers. Well, at any rate we were on the road. And this… is our tale.

Go Slowpoke: No wiffle balls left behind

Go Slowpoke: No wiffle balls left behind

On tour it’s inevitable that you’ll misplace the odd piece of musical equipment from time to time, packing and unpacking at a different spot every night being the name of the game, but on the first Go Slowpoke tour back in 2007 my luck in that respect was almost comically abysmal. While hanging out in San Francisco for a few days waiting for the day of our show, our van window got smashed and gone missing in the city fog went two guitars, my amp, a suitcase of merch, and, of all things, my $70 DJ-grade bubble machine. That final item was responsible for its fair share of tile floor lubrication-related audience injuries, so maybe it was a blessing in disguise, but consequently I might, over the years, have become a little over-protective when it comes to my physical possessions.

So I can’t say it was a surprise when I started losing small objects on June 5, 2010, the very day we set out on Go Slowpoke Tour #3. Somehow my precious white sunglasses, gifted to me years ago by one Andy Piper, found their way onto the top of our 1986 GMC Safari (hereafter referred to as “Rickety Martin”) while we picked up our drummer Dan at his house in Seattle, and stayed there for 17 city blocks before finally tumbling into the bushes at the 45th Street onramp when I swiveled the van south toward Portland.

And that night in Portland, when the first raindrop fell from an otherwise perfectly clear sky and landed on the tent where I had not two seconds before laid my sleepy head down, I should have immediately taken everything of value inside the adjacent house and waited for the Wrath of God to pass me over instead of stubbornly sticking to my increasingly damp guns and waking up the next morning completely soaked from pillow to sleeping bag bottom, my cell phone totally fried.

By the time we left Portland, I wasn’t going to take any more shit from whatever Karma Monster up in the sky was slowly stripping my possessions away from me, however small. When Rickety Martin pulled into Eugene, it being a few hours before our show, I decided that it might be fun to kill a few minutes by playing a little wiffle ball. So we found a public park downtown that, apart from being populated by a dozen scattered, brown-bagging, sunburned vagrants, and despite being partially shaded by an elevated freeway onramp, seemed the perfect spot for a little back-and-forth. I took my spot and threw one giant grapefruit of a pitch to Dan, who in turn sent it sailing — like a miracle — like a dream — perfectly — at the very peak of its arch — between the rail bars and onto the freeway onramp.

I loved that wiffle ball. It wasn’t some Wal-Mart ripoff piece-of-shit knockoff. This was a genuine USA-made eight-hole hard plastic Wiffle Ball. So, much to my bandmates’s consternation, I WOULD NOT LET THIS GO. I dragged them across the park to a pedestrian ramp that, I thought, might afford us some view of the onramp. It didn’t. And Joel almost got his head blown off by a stray bottle rocket that, thanks to some kids on the grass below us, exploded two feet from his face.

There was only one thing left to do: Try to get on that onramp ourselves. We got back in the van and took Rickety up as slowly as we could without pissing off the traffic behind us, trying, at 40 miles an hour, to pick a small white orb out of the hundred other pieces of trash littering the freeway. Somehow — like a miracle — like a dream — we DID pick it out, but this being an elevated freeway onramp, there was really no shoulder to pull over, and we had to drive three miles to the next exit, the mall, before we could turn around and get back downtown.

On our next fly-by, now knowing the ball’s approximate location, I kept my eyes peeled for some place — any place — to pull Rickety over so one of us could run back along the three feet of shoulder room and snatch it off the side of the road. The only semi-reasonable spot was a full 150 yards after we passed the ball, but I slammed on the brakes and flipped on the hazards anyway. Joel, being the passenger closest to the side door, jumped out in his flip-flops and started jogging back along the freeway while the rest of us sat anxiously and awkwardly in the parked van, watching him grow smaller and smaller and then disappear around a bend in the freeway and at that moment I finally stopped and realized: If he gets hit by a car we wouldn’t even see it happen, and– What if he steps on a shard of glass or a hypodermic needle?? and– If he gets hit by a car it’s my fault! and– I AM RISKING MY BASS PLAYER’S LIFE FOR A F#!$ING WIFFLE BALL.

The minutes ticked by, dreadful, so slow. I felt like the worst kind of person, the most selfish, most irresponsible, most heartless — and then Joel came jogging back around the corner holding my dear eight-holed wonderball, and I suddenly forgot what a shitbag I was! Joel jumped back in the car and I circled back around to the park and took a look at the ball. And let me just say: my faith in Wiffle brand quality and craftmanship was truly reinforced. There were visible tire marks — yet it was still as round as the day it came out of the factory! Amazing!

And that’s the story of how I came to play Wiffle Ball in every coast town from Bellingham to San Francisco. And how I finally defeated the Giant Karma Monster in the sky. And how the bravery and selflessness of one bass player made the world a better, rounder, more plastic-y place to live.

Namaste.

Lumpkins shared their country music in Glacier, Portland and Seattle, and then shared a self-portrait for your reading pleasure. Courtesy photo/illustration by David Stray Ney

Lumpkins shared their country music in Glacier, Portland and Seattle, and then shared a self-portrait for your reading pleasure. Courtesy photo by David Stray Ney

The first ever Lumpkins tour was a success in that there weren’t any incidents that led to the creation of a new sad tune. Gas money was recovered, and everybody left with a couple of dollars in their pocket. I mean literally, a couple of dollars. Like two. But you know what?We sounded good. We had very special guest Kat Bula playing fiddle with us, which made our sound more full, and added that special element that only she can add to a band.

This was a small tour. Most of us work, and we are still a relatively new band, so anything larger than a weekend tour is far off in the distance. We managed to get out of Bellingham and take our northwestern music to…well…the Northwest.

It started Friday in Glacier at Graham’s Restaurant. None of us had ever played in Glacier before, and Graham’s is THE venue up in that sleepy mountain town. The crowd that night was sparse but appreciative, the numbers and enthusiasm increased throughout the night. People listened intently and gave us good feedback. An older gentleman told me that Graham of Graham’s is a former NASA engineer. He showed me the space where Graham makes machines to help athletes repair their torn muscles.

After spending the night at our respective homes in Bellingham, we headed south towards Portland. We stopped in Seattle to pick up our good friend, and special guest drummer Dan Dejoy. The venue we played was called the Queen of Hearts Tavern, way down in SE PDX. We had heard, going into this, that this was a biker bar (and according to one of my friends, a swingers bar). The latter was not true, but the former definitely was.What a perfect environment for us and Lana Rebel & The Love Lasers to play our down n’ dirty country music.

This was a bar full of characters. And these characters wanted to get drunk and listen to some country music. Playing with Lana & The Lasers was an incredible pleasure. Our set went great, but we were warming the stage up for this incredibly dynamic and suped up version of Lana’s intoxicating music. Bellingham ex-pat Dan Lowinger plays guitar in this band, and holy shit, that guy is good. Notable characters: the older man whom informed me that “Lumpkins is the best music I’ve heard since I left Kentucky”. The gentleman’s name was “Towtruck” and unsuccessfully tried to pick up our friend, due to the fact that she was “very attached” to her “boyfriend”.

The most notable character was a sweaty, large, lovable and extremely generous man named “The Gooch”. The Gooch was a big supporter of the arts and the alcohol industry. He also knew how to instigate the: “ONE TIME FOR THE GOOCH”, “TWO TIMES FOR THE GOOCH” funk command, which Lana and the Lasers were more than happy to oblige.

The final show was the Can Can Cabaret in Seattle, in the heart of the Pike Street Market. The atmosphere was brilliant and the crowd was very responsive. I, myself, decided to take advantage of the newly legalized selection of “real” Absinthe that the Can Can serves. Our set was great, and the sound in that venue was superb. I returned to the green room wanting to try on the wolf mascot head, but respecting the wishes of the venue who put up a sign instructing me not to.

Tales from the Road: Dog Shredder

Tales from the Road: Dog Shredder

From the moment we left I had a good feeling about this tour. I’ve toured the West coast 12 times, East coast once, England, Scotland, and played seemingly every town over 5,000 people in Washington and Oregon then back again. I felt that this one was going to be particularly special and rewarding, though. And it was not in vain.

We cleaned out the old ‘92 Dodge Ram 250 (identical to the one Cicadas abandoned in a Ross Dress For Less parking lot in Missoula), built ourselves a loft (Jonny V. from Rooftops, I’m sending a big public thank you in your direction), packed away some instant coffee, and we were off. Seattle, Portland, and Arcata: you were all awesome!

Some of the first friends we were excited to see were Casey and Travis of The Americas in Chico, CA. Our history with these two runs pretty deep and they were proper company as expected. We played at a strip-mall theater that normally hosts theatrical types of goings on, but we were happy to be of the first bands to play there. Fresh off their US tour, The Americas were absolutely at the top of their game that night. They played a long set for the hometown audience and I had hoped that a few weeks on the road would do for Dog Shredder what it had done for them. We partied late and Travis rode with us to San Francisco the next day where we met up and spent a couple nights with the wonderful ex-’hamster Christy Greenwald.

We spent the day off in ‘frisco walking through Golden Gate Park and avoiding Amoeba Records. We spent the night chatting, laughing, and playing Super Nintendo. You know, rock star stuff. Our show was double booked and we were billed last of 5 bands (one of which was the phenomenal Mongloid Village from Portland). So we patiently sat through the first few bands and took some heckling from a horrendous touring singer/songwriter-type who accused us of never being on tour because if we had, we would know that we “support all other touring bands.” Sorry no one was watching your set, brah. I think you lost our attention during your 45-minute set-up.

Anywhoo, onward we went. Our LA show was cancelled so we stopped and spent the night at The Holland residence in Burbank. Thanks to my mom, dad, sister and oma for putting up with us. I feel lucky to have such supportive parents. Not all approve of this type of running-all-over-the-country business, you know.

Our San Diego show was a big highlight, we hung out and watched the Cavs game and then played to a packed house, and Phoenix was fun because we got to hang, play, and talk scrabble with our friends from Red Fang. But nothing quite prepared us for what was next.

In the words of Federation X: “Fuck Detroit, Flagstaff Rock City!” Man do these people know how to party. I mean seriously. These guys in Arizona eat, sleep and breathe rock & roll. We played at our friends from This Runs on Blood’s house and the basement just went nuts. We played for donations and by the end of the night we were one harmonica, a Denny’s coupon, four pieces of nicorette, a bunch of loose tobacco, a duct-taped can of Hamm’s, and $80 richer. What a blast. The next afternoon we went down to the park and played kickball. Now, I have played some kickball. But much like their raucous rock & roll lifestyle they play by their own inexplicably awesome rules. No keeping score is allowed, the inning is over after four outs, and talking lots and lots of shit about the other team is a must. At one point the field was raided by as many dogs as there were fielders (that’s nine, coach). Delay of game.

We were in the neighborhood and were too poor for Vegas, so we spent a day off camping at the Grand Canyon. More rock star stuff!!

We stuck around Flagstaff for a couple more days, played another show there, and sped to Denver, CO. This is where the long, long drives begin. We played this place called Bar Bar and, true to its name, IT TOTALLY WAS A BAR! Say you took the (sometimes) delightfully seedy clientele of the Horseshoe, mix in the hipster Caps crowd, give them all free reign on booze and a jukebox and you’ve got this place. Right in the center of the highly developed downtown Denver area, Bar Bar has its own little rock block amid the skyscrapers and couldn’t look more out of place. It looked like it had been a rock bar for 100 years, and the bathrooms, I’d say, maybe 150. We stayed with our friend Luke from Kingdom of Magic (check them out at Jinx next month they rule!) and kept moving.

The drive from Denver to Missoula is 13.5 hours (iPhones rule it on tour, by the way). We made it about 11 and stayed with Noah’s Dad and his family. If you are reading this, thanks for the cookies, guys!

The last show was in Missoula, MT. I can’t say enough about how much I love it there. Totally bizzaro Bellingham. Missoula is where it goes down for W ntage USA’s AMAZING annual all-you-can-eat-then-barf buffet of rock & roll insanity known to most as Totalfest. Josh and Nikki from W ntage came out to the show, as did our friends from Victory Smokes, solidifying our perfect record of having friends and familiar faces in EVERY SINGLE CITY OF THE TOUR.

I knew it was going to be a good one. I almost went to jail, all of our gear got a little more road cred, the band got tighter, our intra-state friendships got stronger, and our amps got progressively louder. Deaf as we are, I’d say it was a good one indeed.

DJ Ryan I , his brother and DJ Triple Crown in Sonoma, CA. Photo courtesy of Ryan I

Blessed Coast Tour with Chukki Starr & Gappy Ranks, April 12-22 / Seattle, Portland, Bellingham, Berkeley, Sebastopol, Sonoma, San Francisco and Fresno

It all began in Seattle at the Nectar Lounge. It was a full lineup including Chukki Starr, Winstrong, Dynasty Sounds, DJ Element & Blessed Coast. We showed up at Nectar and played a very strong set but because it was a Tuesday, it wasn’t as busy as we hoped. We did the show, got rested up and got ready to head to Portland the next day.

After driving in the rental car for a few hours we ended up at Portland’s finest Motel 6. After a quick soundcheck we were ready to roll at The Mt. Tabor Theatre. One more night down, seven to go. Portland’s crowd was similar to Seattle, the few people that were there enjoyed themselves but it would have been nice to have a few more people. Following the show I found out at about 2:30 that morning was that a volcano had erupted in Iceland and the ash in the air was causing all flights going out in a very large radius, including London, to be delayed.

This was on a Wednesday and Gappy Ranks was supposed to meet us on the following Monday. We didn’t think much of it at the time just hoping that after five days he would be able to fly and we would be fine. We woke up the next morning and got back on the road for Bellingham. All I will say is Bellingham made Seattle and Portland look like a ghost town. We had Bellinghams Umami & Mateo Mblem & Mr. Chatman from Seattle warm it up and then it was time for Chukki Starr. We were somewhat surprised, but not completley taken off guard to find out of the three shows, Bellingham had the highest turnout. Bellingham we love you.

Bright and early the next day we hopped on our plane to California. We had Friday and Saturday to rest, a DJ show on Sunday in Berkeley and then Gappy Ranks would land Monday and we would continue with our tour. Or at least we had planned. We tried not to worry about the volcanic ash too much and rested up in beautiful Sonoma CA. The 8 year anniversary party in Berkeley was one highlight of the tour. We were able to run a set amongst 10 of Californias top Sound Systems and we rammed the dance!

We woke up the next day feeling very proud of what we had done the night before but also shocked to find out Gappy Ranks would not be on his flight and his first show in Sebastopol would be cancelled. Next night in Sonoma, same thing. And again on Wednesday in San Francisco. Of course we still were able to DJ at all of these parties and as they say, “The show must go on,” even if the artist can’t be there. We did our best to keep a smile throughout but it was very difficult to have a volcano on the other side of the earth crush some of our greatest dreams.

Just when we were ready to give up, they called me and told me they were able to fly and were coming to California. At this point we wondered if it was even worth it. He had already missed four shows and we would have to drive three hours for the last show. We couldn’t say no, and I have no regrets that we didn’t. They flew in on Thursday after being delayed a week. After only about 30 minutes in the car we felt like long lost brothers and had a bond established due to what had happened. We loaded up in our brother’s friend’s black S.U.V, passed Gappy some swishers and Hennessy and left San Francicso for Fresno.

After three hours of driving and laughing with Gappy and his manager Pierre we arrived in Fresno just in time for the sunset. The long drive was quickly forgotten when we were met at the hotel room by the promoter with fresh meals for all of us, beverages, brain food and even a case of “Spankys Grape Soda.” Look it up…

After mixing up some Hennessy, Redbull and Grape Soda we were more than ready for the night. After being delayed nearly a week Gappy Ranks came on stage, or stood on two stools to put it more correctly. It seemed as if he had the fire in his heart and wanted to let California know he would be back because it was one of the greatest performances I have ever seen! He had Fresno in the palm of his hand for over an hour!

Following the show we made our way back to the hotel, finished off Spanky’s Grape Soda and just laughed at what a crazy two weeks it had been. The next day we drove back to San Francisco and hopped on the plane to back to Bellingham. Gappy Ranks and Pierre were off to the East Coast and still to this day are on the road, or in the sky when they can be.

For more about Blessed Coast, visit www.blessedcoast.com. Contact blessedcoast1@gmail.com.

Sugar Sugar Sugar’s Christopher Nunn, Lupe Flores and Andru Creature enjoyed the sights along the way

Sugar Sugar Sugar: 38 days of sweet stories

Sugar Sugar Sugar: 38 days of sweet stories

Sugar Sugar Sugar: 38 days of sweet stories

Thirty-eight days in the sugar van could not possibly be summed up in the space here. Below, are some highlights, but for full details, come visit us at Caps.

This past spring we ventured off toward Austin once again, in a huge, crooked loop that went by far too fast. We were lucky enough to have the good fortune to tour with one of our favorite bands, (and some of our favorite people), in the world; the lovely, kick ass ladies of LOZEN, a soulful, powerful duo out of Tacoma. With our roadies, Margot and Tim, our two white vans, (ours adorned with zebra striped curtains with purple dingle ball fringe, courtesy of the Momzzz, and red SUGAR SUGAR SUGAR stenciled on the side), the seven of us hit the road with $30 in our band fund.

Thank you Bellingham, for giving us the start we needed… Our tour kick off/CD release show at Plan B, was by far one of the best, and most memorable shows we’ve ever played, (not to mention, made us enough money to get to our next show, woo!).

We journeyed into the sun, (finally), driving through the redwoods and field upon fields of baby sheep… Southern Oregon must be the capital for baby sheep in the world. We had a much better time around in Arcata this year, and met one of our new favorite mini’s, (Sug term for a youngen), Paul, who we stayed up all night with painting and playing music. We all crashed in one huge heap on a mountain of pillows in the middle of his living room.

The next day, after his roommates stepped over, around and between us to get to their classes on time, we tried everything to get Paul to drop out of college and jump in the Sugar Van, (I was about to call his mom to explain the situation to her), but alas, Paul stayed behind…

We made frequent stops to skinny dip in the ocean, on our road south toward Mendocino. After playing a very strange show in Caspar, we ended up at the most amazing recording studio ever. It was chock full of vintage guitars, amps, a farfeeza, Wurlitzer, drums galore, a grand piano, and was conveniently located in a Eucalyptus forest on a cliff overlooking the ocean with NO NEIGHBORS!

We rocked this crazy biker bar run by a Hells Angel in San Francisco and then headed to Oakland the next night, where LOZEN’s van got stolen by a bunch of crackheads. The girls got their van back, minus a couple of purses and a passport, and we just barely got out of there without getting hurt. That was real, real, real scary.

Then we headed down to L.A., which is always a blast, and said adios to our trusty roadie Tim. Then off to San Diego, where one journalist wrote about how our sound “licks the sweaty spot in the crease of the mammaries of Black Sabbath and T.Rex).” We didn’t know those bands had “mammaries,” but we’ll take it.

We showed up in Scottsdale, AZ, not knowing what to expect from the tiny house we had been booked to play at. There was a handful of teenage boys watching porn and getting high… we collectively decided to get the hell out of there asap. Luckily, our friend from home, Motorcycle Jared showed up in an old school Limo with a turquoise, velour-like top, and swooped us up.

After getting denied at the customs office in Mexico, (I cried), we headed to Austin, and spent a week and a half amidst the sweaty masses that flock there for SXSW every year. We played six shows in Austin, ranging from FXFU at the Typewriter Museum, to our friend’s welding shop. It was epic. Besides rocking for thousands of people from all over the world, it included: seeing a bunch of kick ass girl bands from Japan, and eating chili dogs and playing chicken shit bingo at Ginny’s Longhorn Saloon with Dale Watson, our living country legend hero.

The next string of shows through the Midwest were surprisingly really fun, and successful, (which is good cuz we went broke in Austin). Then we headed north to Denver and played with KINGDOM OF MAGIC who lived in this amazing warehouse that was more like a museum of cool shit to look at. After eating some of the best pho in our lifetime, we headed further north, toward Missoula. There we played to an extremely appreciative crowd at an all ages space, BSMT, that was a lot like Jinx. We felt right at home, and love love loved it.

I could have written this entire story about what was to happen next. Our van broke down (two days before our last show), in a snowstorm, on a mountain pass, with no cell phone reception. After flagging down Canadians to drive to a pay phone to call AAA for us, a very stoic, rugged man named J.F., picked us up. We told him we were supposed to play Tri-Cties that night and he told us we were screwed. He drove us to “bustling” St. Regis, Montana. That night we went to the bar, appropriately called “The Dog House,”and sweet talked our way into playing there. The amazing folks at this bar, were INCREDIBLY helpful. Two of the guys drove to our van in the shop and loaded our gear. The bartender left one of his boozy barflies in charge of the bar, while he left to find us a p.a. The barflies meanwhile, were busy calling everyone within a 20-mile radius to come out to see us play. It was a f!#$ing blast. Big ladies.Big, hairy ladies, shakin it. Hard. They loooooved Chris and Andy. The boys had an impossible time leaving cuz those women surrounded them and wouldn’t let them go.

The next morning, J.F. woke up at the crack of dawn to fix our van on his day off. $500 and 280 miles on J.f.’s car later, (driving to Missoula and back for parts), we were back on the road at 4:15 p.m. We had our homecoming Tacoma, (8 hours away), that night.

So, after busting ass through 2 more mountain passes, we got to our show at 11:15, and played right away. This was the best show of the tour: falling, screaming, drooling, etc. It was a helluva way to leave our adventures with LOZEN for the time being. We love those chicks.

For 38 days of bliss, (well,… mostly bliss),we sacrificed our jobs, our houses, our savings account, (and then some), to play rocknroll to a better half of the country. And we wouldn’t think twice about giving it all up to do it again… Soon.

For more about the band, check out myspace.com/sugarsugarsugarmusic

deerseekingheadlights made stops in Portland, Olympia and Seattle. Photo courtesy of deerseekingheadlights

March 26: Bellingham

I booked this show myself, and scheduled way more than ever could have happened in one night, but everything worked out.

This was nominally our tour “kick-off” show and there were a couple of bands on tour from Portland. The two touring bands, Dramady and Pelican Ossman were awesome, as were Poops and Sarah (I can’t remember the name they called the act). The most amusing part of the whole show was this guy with his cell phone camera who kept getting in Poops’ face and blinding him with the flash. At some point, the drummer for Dramady stood next to the guy and held a plastic chicken nugget in the same fashion. It looked like they were worshipping at Poops’ feet.

Our set was great until the last song, “Nature”, when Peter forgot when it ended, and so stopped playing right before the finale. He then walked out of the front door for 10 minutes, at which time he reappeared through the back.

When we finally got everyone out of the house, it was pretty late and we had a slumber party in my living room. The Portland folks left me some delicious fruit, because they thought they couldn’t take it into Canada, and I ate it for the rest of our tour.

March 28: Seattle

The rain started as soon as Peter and I left Bellingham, but the drive down to Seattle was nice. We were excited for a couple of particulars about this show: we were playing with our Meow Mix compatriots, Cat Band; the show was being broadcast on Chat Roulette; Graham and Matt were opening the show, and I enjoy both their company.

We had dinner beforehand; or rather Peter did, at a falafel place in the U District. I think Peter’s reticence about falafel being “too crumbly” was dispelled. Matt told us about the adverse effects a cold house can have on your sleep and I told him about a mouse trying to claw through the mattress next to my head on our last tour.

Chat Roulette wound up being fun, but even more so, a distraction from the show. Someone started a penis count on a dry erase board, Cat Band yelled at a lot of people, and some teenager challenged Peter to a drum off. Sadly, the whole thing seemed to stop working when My Printer Broke closed the show and it had been their idea in the first place.

March 29: Portland

It rained even more as we drove from Seattle to Portland, but we got there with an hour to spare anyway and we got to stop at Burgerville. On the two tours we’ve been on, Portland has been a bummer. This time, despite our best efforts, not a single person we knew came to the show. We went on right after a spelling bee, and all of the bee participants fled as soon as we began. Luckily, Stentorians brought some people in, otherwise it would have been a dead night.

Stentorians, who are basically a revised version of Shimmers, were really good, but apparently not the type of band that usually plays this venue. It turned out not to be a big deal, but I think we were both too noisy for the people who usually hang out there. The best part of the show was that I was playing with my tiny amp sitting on the floor in front of Stentorians massive amp wall. I could pretend those amps were mine for just a brief moment.

March 30: Olympia

We made breakfast with a friend in Portland and then hit the road for Olympia. Once again, rain the whole way. For the first time in our history, Peter stayed awake for almost the whole drive. When we got to Olympia, we went to a couple of record stores and the Marina, but everything was soaking wet. My feet had not felt dry for days. At Batdorf and Bronsen I heard some “person” say “This is the only place in Olympia where you feel like you’re in Seattle.” When we were walking down the street, some guy stopped us and said, “You’re from Bellingham! What are you two doing here?”We told him and he said he’d be at the show. We never saw that guy again.

The show was a lot of fun, even if no one particularly cared about us. For some reason my amp was feeding back in a very different way than usual, and we went on first, and the kids really wanted to smoke, so a lot of people went outside while we were playing, which was fine. They had missed the bubble and tinsel dance party that occurred between Super Fedor and us before the show, so they could miss us too.

The other bands were really good, particularly Christmas, who were way better than their Myspace page would suggest. After the scheduled bands finished, an impromptu set by Boca a Boca started up, but I was done and fell asleep on a couch upstairs. Later I had a half awake conversation with the guy who set the show up about how I might have kids some day. I told him I was a very careful guy.

The next morning, we drove back to Bellingham so Peter could return to work. I ate at Taco Time for the first time in years and felt disgusting. Later, after I’d dropped Peter off and was cleaning out the van, I found a tin of hard candies that had been left in the van for about two years. This trip was very important.

Heligoats go coast to coast

While traveling on their cross country tour, the Heligoats made some memorable stops, including a visit to the Price is Right game show in Los Angeles. Photos courtesy of Heligoats

While traveling on their cross country tour, the Heligoats made some memorable stops, including a visit to the Price is Right game show in Los Angeles. Photos courtesy of Heligoats

Heligoats go coast to coast

Heligoats go coast to coast

No one has ever heard of Ulysses S. Grant. Though, any time we were asked about our band while on this past winter’s tour and we told them we were three-quarters of the Chicago-based, psychedelic-dork-folk-rock outfit, Ulysses S. Grant, people would squint their eyes, cock their head, pensively stroke their chin and say they were certain they had heard of us. Then, more often than not, they’d blurt out, “$50 bill, right?!” Right. No one has heard of Ulysses S. Grant. Until this year, Ulysses S. Grant had never left the Chicago metropolitan area. They’ve really only played a handful of shows in their few years of existence. And half of those shows were in one another’s basements. Though, hidden inside of the debauchery of this band are a few marvelous musicians that I was able to convince to learn some of my songs, record, and tour with me this past year.

I am Chris Otepka. I am the Heligoats. I moved to Bellingham last year. And when I’m not losing my mind on a Heligoats tour, I play with the Librarians here in town. I had the new record’s sleeves designed and printed locally by Bison Bookbinding & Letterpress, and we made t-shirts with my neighbors at Innate. I am responsible for a handful of Heligoats records and regular touring through the past 10 years. And I am responsible for everything that happened on this past winter’s tour with the dudes.

The dudes! My dudes. Three movie-quoting, grilled-cheesing, yacht rockers. These idiots left their jobs, apartments and bands in Chicago, drove to Bellingham, lived with me for a week and then toured with me for six more. David playing bass, Michael drumming and Tugboat tugging. I enticed them to make such a colossal commitment by offering food, beer, and tickets to the Price is Right when we passed through Los Angeles, as well as a perfectly timed stop through Fat Tuesday’s opening parade in New Orleans. Not to mention, a friendly 35 shows booked in a 40-day trip, coast to coast. Having never taken a journey so epic, the enticements were appropriate for three-quarters of Ulysses S Grant, they accepted, and before we knew it we were off.

The length and distance of the trip was really nothing more than a response to show requests, following up on past trips, exploring a few new lands, and linking it all together with some strategic routing, helpful people and luck. We traveled more than 10,500 miles in a month and a half and did not get pulled over once.

Helpful people at the Foundry and BuildStrong Productions got us off to a great start here in Bellingham with an encouraging show in town before heading south to Seattle, Portland, Redding and LA. Our friend Erika Valenciana made the West Coast jaunt with us and made a nice little video of the trip. You can find it on our Facebook page. Our Redding, CA show fell on Super Bowl Sunday and was cancelled when the jackass who runs the Downtown Eatery drank too much and passed out before dark. We all sat at the Whataburger and decided to drive all night to L.A. for our three shows in the greater-Hollywood area. We pulled into Venice Beach at 5 a.m., slept on the sand, watched surfers in the sun rise and then drove to the Echo Park neighborhood that afternoon.

We were greeted by Corey Gingerich, (owner of one of the last few, great cassette tape labels called Slanty Shanty Records) with a courtyard barbecue next to some orange trees, fresh showers and lots of kitties and bunnies to ease our minds. I brought a bunny into the bathroom while I showered, because Corey said it was cool. We were situated at his house for two nights as we ran around Los Angeles and played some shows. The morning of the Price is Right taping was hideous. We stood in line for four hours before actually getting into the studio, only to NOT be called up to winner’s row. Apparently they’ll only pick attractive people with bubbly personalities to be contestants on the show. We were ugly and hung over. Though, of the hundreds of strange humans waiting for the show, Tugboat amazingly predicted the girl who would win the Showcase Showdown while we were standing in line. After Los Angeles had enough of us, we said goodbye to Drew Carey and his kingdom, dropped Erika off at the bus and skipped town.

The floodgates opened and we surged east to play Tucson, AZ. By the time we got into the warmth of the desert we started to melt together as a band and a family. After the beach and diners, game shows, the ocean water, the rain, the sweat & the heat, now a week deep, we had achieved a collective smell. A cloud of a band, fueled by soda pop, grilled cheese, and weed, spending pink and blue yacht-flavored dream days sleeping and waiting in some of the finest parking lots and creep-approved parts of town. Texas took care of us and we merely fell into the flow through the chambers of her heart. We came together like Tetris. The four shows in Texas were very special. It was all too easy. So much so, that we spent our last starry-Texas night playing a place in Houston called Super Happy Fun Land, and it truly was.

We left the safety of Texas on that Monday night and drove five hours to New Orleans to arrive at 6 a.m. I love driving over the mouth of the Mississippi. The fresh water meeting the salt water and the marine life that exists and operates there. The dudes had never seen New Orleans before, and I was excited to share the wonder.

We slept in the van into the afternoon and woke up, surrounded by thousands of Mardi Gras attendees. The three dudes went down to the parade as I continued to catch up on sleep. They returned just before dark, completely shrouded in beads and carrying beers. We pow-wowed in the van, absorbing the energy of the scene and, as night fell, we went out to look for food and adventure. The adventure quickly found us a few blocks from our van as we were held up at gunpoint by some creeps in this haunted city. I was jacked across the face twice, my pocket office was violated and my cell phone was taken. The amount of people crowding the streets and neighborhoods made it impossible for city authorities to maintain any order. We left New Orleans with one less phone, a sore collective jaw and a new jolt of energy to finish the second half of the tour.

We continued on through Nashville, Atlanta, Charleston SC, Virginia, Boston, New York, and Hamden CT. The South Carolina sun and palm trees were refreshing, and the last time we would enjoy warm temperatures on the trip.

We played with a band called Shart Attack in Richmond, VA.

After leaving New York city, a foot of snow fell through the night as we drove to Pittsburgh. We played Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Columbus, Nashville (again), and headed to St. Louis for our last week of tour in the Midwest.

We met up with Bellingham freak and friend, Robert Sarazin Blake in St. Louis. He hopped in the van and continued through Iowa, Illinois, Wisconsin and Minnesota with us to finish the trip. His presence was a nice boost, the dudes loved him, and we were lucky to have him play his wonderful songs before us each night for the last eight days of our tour. We went through Rock Island, Des Moines, Iowa City and Ames, IA. And after just a couple shows together, Sarazin Blake was jumping up on stage with us for our last song and holding a tripped-out, noise rock sermon with the help of an adult magazine from the 70’s.

It had been 6 weeks since David, Michael and Tugboat from Ulysses S Grant had left Chicago to meet up with me in Bellingham. Needless to say, our Chicago show was energetic, full of friends, families and warmth. I was proud of the dudes for having made it. We finished the trip strong, venturing up into Wisconsin and Minnesota to play some acoustic shows, de-rattle, reflect and celebrate being alive. For the dudes, it was their first time with a trip of that magnitude under their belts. For me, ultimately, I could not think of a better way to spend 40 days in the same pair of pants.

I ran the dudes through the gauntlet in that month and a half in hopes to prepare them for an upcoming Spring tour with the folk-rock band Clem Snide. And I’ll tell you right now, they are prepared. We are prepared, and we will be making the same journey this month. You can come see us in Seattle at the Tractor Tavern on Wednesday, May 19.

Stories and pictures from this past trip continue to trickle onto our facebook page and website (theheligoats.com). You’ll find songs and upcoming tour dates there too.

Thank you for letting me live in you, Bellingham. I love you.

The Hot Mess Shit Show takes a break in California. Courtesy photo

The Hot Mess Shit Show. Courtesy photo

The Hot Mess Shit Show. Courtesy photo

The Hot Mess Shit Show. Courtesy photo

The Hot Mess Shit Show. Courtesy photo

The Hot Mess Shit Show. Courtesy photo

The Hot Mess Shit Show (HMSS) is a variety show made up of lady performers from Bellingham, WA who recently completed a Pacific Coast tour. Consisting of Jessica Sele (comedian), Team Valerie (tap and ukulele act), Janette (aka Ari, ribbon-dancing extraordinaire), and Femme Uke (Ashley and Laine, ukulele smut strummers), the HMSS spread good vibrations, self-love and self-empowerment to girlfriends everywhere who need a good old-fashioned revolution. Here are some of the tidbits they picked up while on tour.

Portland, Pt. One: Oh, to live in the 503. Portland is beautiful and full of people who look like they love to have fun. We played a house show on Division St., organized by our friend Alley who knew Laine in middle school. Alley is busy organizing shows in warehouses and parking garages (check out winteristhenewsummer.com) but made space for us in her little house on top of the Detour Cafe.

The HMSS stuck out in this crowd: we are the only ones who are face-painting, having fun, or smiling. This sampling of PDX singer-songwriters is full of angst, but also some seriously great lyrics! All of the dudes in the living room left when we started our set (we noticed this throughout our travels), and we conclude that maybe Portland is more into the house party than the house show scene we see so often here in the B’Ham. Most interesting part of this night: we had two girls crying at the end of our show: these girls need the Girlfriend Revolution. One of them even jumped into the backseat of our car before we left, totally Beatles-mania style.

Val brought along her GPS with us. We named her ‘Girlfriend’ and affectionately decided to make her an honorary member of the HMSS. She deserves a little WU! shout-out.

HMSS loves us some Grandmas! The lovely Sele and Campsano families not only fed us, but put us up for a couple of nights, and sent us on our way with love and groceries. In order to Grandma-proof ourselves, we changed our name to either a) Hot Mess Shoot Show, b) Girlfriend Revolution Revue, or c) Silly-Willy Girl Group.

Before we drove down the winding and treacherous 101, we stopped to say goodbye to the Pacific Ocean and sing it some songs. This goofy guy named Butch volunteered to take some pictures of us, share some tasty treats, and send us his screenplay. We’re still waiting to see Square Fishing on the big screen, Butch!

Our best HMSS, by far, was when we played in San Francisco at this spot called Blue Six, in the Mission District. We met another group of road-trippers from Albuquerque while we cruised the Haight-Ashbury district during the day, and convinced them to come to our show. Thank goodness we did, because they were the only three people that weren’t the owners at our show. But we performed the hell out of our set for them, and got everyone in the room to ribbon dance! It was, quite possibly, our favorite night.

Oakland/Smokeland: We got to play at this great house show in Oakland, where we were a part of the Au Grrl Variety Show! This one gal, Rizzy, played the banjolele and sang songs about jumping trains and drinking, she’s a part of a traveling crew called The Music Box. After HMSS played, we had this coolest skill-share. A lovely dom named Jennie G gave this awesome spanking demonstration, and taught everyone about consent and how to give a sensational strike. Then, we got to sing along to Songs for Moms songs in the living room, WITH Songs for Moms! This is a beautiful life we lead.

Travel broadens the mind. We have seen so many rolling hills and beautiful, smiling faces… seeing these new landscapes set our brains to a different plane. Get your friends together and hit the open road! Everything in California is green and great, John Steinbeck got it right.

Portland, Pt. Two: We woke up in Weed, CA and drove straight to Portland in one morning, beating Girlfriends’ estimated arrival time (this became a favorite driving pastime, the ‘Minute Game’). We realized we were playing in the same bookshop, In Other Words, where Thunderant filmed some of their feminist bookstore skits. This side of the 503, on Killingsworth St., is our kind of Portland scene. We ate and played an impromptu show at this INCREDIBLE place called The Deli, you can check it out at facebook.com/thedeli.pdx and see that we got a little name-droppin’ connection with this crew. The great thing about The Deli & In Other Words is that they are run mostly by volunteers, which means that these cool folks are all working hard to keep things that they love alive in Portland.

Please, dear readers, please: do what you love. Figure out what it is that you love to do more than anything, do it when you can, and create a space for it in your community. Let’s start creating our own scenes and building spaces and places for girlfriends, grunge rock, or whatever goodness you think your local spaces need. We have seen so many people who are making it happen in the most expensive and quirky spaces, so you can too!

Driving up the 405 on Day 10, so close and yet so far, the Hot Mess Mobile finally broke down. Back in the good ol’ Washington weather and deep into stop-and-go traffic, she just stalled and DIED. We’re talking center lane, hazard light failure, can’t-shift-it-into-neutral DIED.

Two fire trucks, sirens wailing, were honking at us because we were absolutely stuck in the middle of everyone’s way. Eventually, a nice officer helped us push the car (with the use of his patrol car) off to the shoulder so that an even nicer tow-truck driver could pick us up.

Thoughts: thank goodness for AAA and smart, strong, ladies in the car! We made it through with all of our wits in tact, and more life in us than ever before. What a joy it is to be alive.

Idiot Pilot was interviewed by media outlets including National Public Radio. Photos courtesy of Idiot Pilot

Idiot Pilot was interviewed by media outlets including National Public Radio. Photos courtesy of Idiot Pilot

Idiot Pilot was interviewed by media outlets including National Public Radio. Photos courtesy of Idiot Pilot

Idiot Pilot was interviewed by media outlets including National Public Radio. Photos courtesy of Idiot Pilot

Since its conception in 1987, South By Southwest has become a cornerstone of American indie music, not necessarily indie as a vague genre description, but of literal independent music. The freeway to Austin has become the yellow brick road for up and coming bands, who annually throw their shit in the van and trek from all corners of the world to be noticed at the festival. Of course, once they get there they are often confronted with the inevitable fact that they are simply one of hundreds of other bands who threw their shit in said van and made said trek South. The myth of South By Southwest however, remains intact by the fact that it is a truly great event and that, every once in a while, a band will get caught and lifted out of the sea of other bands to go onto bigger and better things. The festival has evolved as well, to include not only music but film and an “interactive” portion that focuses on technology and the internet.

I have been to South By Southwest twice now and, in direct defiance of my lead in, neither of those times was I signed to an indie label. The first time Idiot Pilot was already signed to a major label, and this time we are free agents, which is important to bring up because it drastically informs a band’s reason for attending. For this year’s trip in particular it meant that we were there to get out and meet people; booking agents, labels, other bands, and everyone in between, and to have fun.

We did the drive to Texas in what we in the band like to call a “straight shot”, which basically means in one long haul without stopping at a hotel or to sleep. From Bellingham to Austin is actually the longest “straight shot” drive in the history of Idiot Pilot, narrowly beating out our trip from Austin to Calgary after our previous SXSW experience by just 368 miles. (Austin to Calgary is almost exactly 2,000 miles on the freeway, for those of you who care.) There were five of us in the van, Ian the manager, Michael and myself as the band, and our two auxiliary band members Chris and Dimiter on drums and bass respectively. The wonderful and talented Paul Turpin flew down to meet us at the festival and run our live sound. Needless to say, by the end of the drive we were all feeling a little delirious and ready to sleep.

Idiot Pilot’s showcase was on the first night of the festival, with a fairly promising 11 p.m. timeslot at a great little venue right across from the world famous Stubb’s Barbeque and right down the street from the equally notorious venue, Emo’s. We loaded in our gear through a street quickly filling with music lovers, bands, and press documenting the action. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before we grabbed the attention of NPR, who asked Ian and Dimiter for a comment about the recent news that Youtube would be working with independent artists on a royalties-per-view program. First day at SXSW and we’ve already got an interview with National Public Radio, not too bad.

The show itself was fantastic. Even though we were initially told that fans could not get in unless they possessed one of the very pricey SXSW passes or an artist wristband and that the venue was 21 and over, we quickly learned that neither were true. An hour before show time I sent out a message though our various online channels saying that the gig was actually much easier to attend than previously thought and, somehow, enough Idiot Pilot fans in the area dropped what they were doing and packed the place. There were some familiar faces in the crowd, which is always nice when you are far from home, and even the unfamiliar faces seemed to know the words. Most importantly, we met some great new friends who showed our crew the best late night diner in town for a post show hang out.

The next few days at South By Southwest were spent mingling with various industry folks, running into old friends, or checking out bands. Most of the showcases that I went to were, ironically, from semi-local artists who I could have easily seen without driving across the country. I saw The Globes and Blunt Mechanic from Seattle, waited an hour outside for Past Lives just to catch them packing up their gear, and hung with John from Anacortes’s The Lonely Forest. Getting to catch those guys play was especially great because Idiot Pilot and John Van Deusen have been doing shows together since the both of us were kids, and now that we are all grown up The Lonely Forest is a force to be reckoned with. Their set was one of the best I saw all festival; a super tight, well-oiled pop rock machine with all the hooks you could ever need. On the non-local band front, I managed to catch Myspace sensation Lights, Jakob Dylan and Neko Case, Doll And The Kicks, Washed Out, Cymbals Eat Guitars, and the legendary Stone Temple Pilots, among others. Seeing STP rip through a soaring version of “The Big Empty” is something that has to be seen to be believed.

I also managed to get into a few of the SXSW film premiers while I was there and I was not disappointed. On the third night of the festival Chris and I went to see “The Loved Ones”, an Australian horror feature that has been making the rounds at festivals currently. At the time of our screening it also happened to be the only movie premiering at SXSW that had been picked up by any major distributors, and there is no question why. As a horror connoisseur I can honestly say it is one of the better films I have seen in years, taking all of the best parts of French New Wave Horror and turning them on their head, through a glittery pink lens nonetheless.

The film portion of South By Southwest also insured that, along with various musical personalities strolling around throughout the day (we almost got eaten by Gwar on 6th Street), there are also a few notable actors in attendance. When Dimiter was watching Muse perform he was bumped into by a stranger who mumbled “I’m sorry.” He then turned around to see Bill Murray stumbling away through the crowd.

By the end of the week we had accomplished a lot. We had a great show and made a lot of good connections, done interviews, had fun and seen some fantastic art. As with all matters of business, not all of the details can be shared with the adoring readership of What’s Up! just yet, but as they say about SXSW, it’s all about discovery.