Tour Diary
DAN SARTAIN WORLD TOUR 2007
We hopped a train to the station, took the ferry across the big river and now we're here--back in Londontown again. It's just the Plate Six clan so far, the King left ahead of us to speak into microphones in some foreign land. On our voyage, I learned the joys of sedatives and whiskey. Put me right to sleep, and I the only rest among us.
I'm back at the Columbia, this strange half-assed rock-n-roll mansion. Currently enjoying the fruits borne by the taps in the bar downstairs while Darryl sleeps off the hours spent watching movies on the back of the seat in front instead of watching the back of his eyes. Brad is off to practice percussing with Two Tears--I guess someone among us has to work for it.
I get up for birthday beer #2 and now I am completely broke except for my sad American money which is worthless here. It took 50 pounds to get us from the airport to Columbia--that's $115 US if you factor in the exchange rape. That's 3 days of working at McDonalds where we're from, just to ride from the ferry to the hotel.
And of course United lost our luggage. So now we are going on two days into no toothbrush, no deodorant, no clean clothes stink heaven. I know that's how tours end, but they aren't supposed to begin that way. Surely god hath no mercy--not even on thine birthday.
Since that's the second time I've mentioned it, I might as well come fully out and say that today, the day we spent in a drowsy, smelly, haze is indeed the anniversary of my birth. You'll have to save your surprise parties for after our ticker-tape coming home parade. I now have one more number on my back--one more digit to haul off into the horizon. But for all that age gloom, today I actually feel younger. I've been for some reason thinking I am either 31 or 33 for the past year and this birthday is confirmation that I was wrong. It's free years--a rewind! And it appears I will spend it in bed, though I do hope to make it to the John Snow while my eyelids are still worth lifting to catch up on what ol' Samuel Smith has been up to.
Alright, MOFOS!!!! Bring on the fish-n-chips!!!!!
Jan31-Feb2
We met up with an old friend and went out on the town to drown my age in alcohol. And did we ever drown it. Woke up severely drained, and ran into co-conspirator and personal hero Chris Brokaw (ex-Come, ex-Codeine, current-solo) in the Columbia lobby. What a great way to start day one of a new age--maybe this year will be a good one after all.
Though we woke up slow and groggy, we still managed to hitch a wagon to Cambridge on time. We checked into the Portland Arms and took rest, but the Captain had still not arrived. A few hours later, he and our tour manager Ajay finally showed up in the vehicle that would be our home for the next three weeks--a Concorde! Since their retirement from intercontinental travel, they are apparently available to the public, and our hero Ajay was able to procure one for use on this trip. That sure will make travel a lot more efficient as we criss-cross the continent in the coming weeks.
The show in Cambridge was mighty hectic. We hadn't even seen our gear until only a few hours before the show. This meant a lot of fiddling with knobs and tuners and power adapters while Ajay dissected and reassembled the PA. By the time we got our gear squared away, we had only about 20 minutes to rush over to Portland Arms to eat before showtime.
The Two Tears played first and were great. It was Brad's first time playing the material since reuniting with his long-lost sister Kerry only two days before. The Plate Six show was very odd. Having been married to our equipment for 8 years now, it is very unnerving to be playing other guitars and amps. The amps are especially weird, and for the first song or two we had a few blunders as we struggled to hear ourselves. Towards the end of the set, we all had adjusted and pulled through. It should be a great trip.
The band headed backstage for massages and sauna treatment to get recharged for the Captain's set. Being so pampered really helped, as we came out blazing--playing Trying to Say and Drama Queens as quick and furious as lightning. Dan's set went great, helped by some sing-a-longs and maniacal dancing from the audience, and culminated his teeth-picked solo at the end of the encore--a bad-assed end to a bad-assed night.
We spent the early hours of the morning hootin' and hollerin' at the pub an then headed upstairs to our hotel to catch up on some nap time. Woke up late, downed some greasy English breakfast, and hit the road for Oxford. And now the Concorde is stuck on the side of the motorway, out of gas. I guess that's the price you pay for supersonic travel.
Feb 2-3
We spent the entire day in misery on the side of the M11(that's apparently MILF in dutch). Call after call to the police and the AA went unanswered and delayed. First they went to the wrong junction, and rather than call us and correct it apparently assumed the problem fixed. Then we had to start the process again, waiting in the cold for help. After five hours of sun, then moon, we finally were able to take off in the Concorde again. Morale was low, but fortunately the Captain knew the cure--singing "No Diggity" over and over and over a-fucking-gain. I suppose it beat the torture of listening to the incessant ticking of the hazard lights.
The show was set for a disco load-out at 10:30. By the time we arrived it was 9:15. We set up shop by 9:30 and went straight to hammering out the jams. Hours and hours of frustration unleashed by the boy-tornado, Dan Sartain. Again there was a full harvest of sing-a-longs, a fair amount of cock-rock posing once all the Plate Six boys were on the stage with Dan, and towards the end of the set the sighting of what may very well be the first Dan Sartain tattoo--the red rose from his guitar.
We finished the set exhausted, unaware how taxing the shift from being at zero all day to full-throttle would be. And as soon as we were done, we had to bust ass packing everything right back up. Ah, the fabled rock-n-roll lifestyle--Work, Work, Sweat, Work, and occasionally Drugs.
After load-out, we hustled to catch the Rice Box before it closed for some hands-down worst Chinese food of my life, and my first meal of the day. Retired to the hotel for the first hot shower of tour and went right to bed. Our wake-up call never arrived and we woke up too late for breakfast--another hungry day. The good news is that we got to Thekla Social way ahead of schedule and may actually get to eat tonight. Plus, that shit is a motherfucking BOAT!
I'm off to relearn some Love Boat lyrics so I can pester my roadmates with my supple tenor all night long.
Feb3-4
Soundcheck was an agonizing wait. After unloading the Concorde and toting more than our weight in amps down the stairs into Thekla's belly, we were all pretty beat. This on yet another day without proper food. The sound board dealt Ajay frustration on every channel and again had to be reconstructed for use. This meant a lot of tired, hungry waiting for us weary travelers. We had to cram soundcheck into the last few minutes before doors--a hurried scramble for all 3 bands. The zero-to-lightspeed thing once again.
Once we were done with that, we hurried upstairs to try to cram some food down before showtime. By the time our orders arrived, it was time to play and the choice had to be made between holding up the show so we could eat for the first time today or playing all night on empty. Food won, and certainly not on the merit of its taste. Five minutes for digestion and siblings Brad and Kerry are already onstage rocking hard as Two Tears.
Plate Six made a few more adjustments to our gear and our ears adjusted themselves too, making the set much less of a fight for us. It was considerably better than the first show, and I'm betting the third show (the epic 5-band bill scheduled tonight in Leeds) will prove to be the charm.
Dan was able to procure a flagon of mead before the show, and was rather imbibed by the time we hit the stage. The first few songs came out in a hazy daze, feeling like a lazy transmission from some inner or other world. Each new song gathered momentum, building through the Cobras trilogy into a few new songs--most notably the first playing of "Rock Around the Clock pt. 2." By the time Darryl came out for the full band songs, we were smoking. Dan expounded upon the merits of his underwear and some mush-mouthed Briton yelled what sounded like Edie Brickell lyrics at me while giving the devil horns--a truly baffling exchange for which alcohol can probably be blamed on both ends.
The set was done, but Dan was called back for an encore. He started with this old shipman's song which he's been playing a good bit recently. It was superb. Then we cranked our amps for Second Coming, pounded through that, and then left the stage for good.
After another brutal haul getting the amps back out of the ship, we were as good as dead. We walked to the hotel, our morale being lifted by the sights of restaurants bustling in the night. The promise of food! And to be clear, I mean GOOD food, which would be a first. We dropped our bags at the hotel and went right back out in hopes of procuring some clean-burning (and pray tasty) food to get our bodies back in shape. But we soon found out all the kitchens were closed, and our hopes dashed. We wandered through the sea of drunk-eyed, arm-in-arm hooligans towards the only food we could find--fucking doner. At this point, any food would do. We paid for our slop, grabbed some bottom-bin wine out of the Concorde and headed back to the hotel to laugh at the prophetic 70s movie Earthquake, which not only predicted the San Francisco earthquake of the late 80s, but also the World Trade Center attacks and the flooding of New Orleans. Nostradamus, be warned!
It appears Dan is about to give himself a haircut onboard the Concorde. We'll see how that turns out.
Feb 4
We got to the venue in Leeds in plenty of time. Had a laid-back soundcheck for a change as Kerry went out scouting for some real food for our weary group. Fortunately, she knew exactly what to look for--a Sunday roast--and once we were done with set-up, we all headed down to the local pub to resaturate our muscles with steaming hot roast beef and gravy. The show was to be a long one, with two local acts added to our 3-band touring bill, and for the first time we were able to relax and pace ourselves a bit.
Helena Gee went on first, with some rather emotive girl-and-an-acoustic-guitar jive that gave Brad a "heart boner." Next up was Two Tears, who for the first time didn't have to be the ones breaking the silence for us. Next, the Plate Six was up, and this time we were truly on fire. Everything felt superb, the same as it had for years and years playing behind supercranked amps back in the States. The third time was indeed the charm.
The true treat of the night came backstage during the Sugars' set, when the Captain led we fortunate few in an absolutely glowing rendition of Old Dirty Bastard's "Shimmy Ya", playing the lead line on his guitar while the rest of provided the backups.
Time was ripe for the nightly Sartain slaughter, and the reprieve the Sugars had provided for Brad and I was rather evident in our performance. We absolutely slayed, burning through the usual numbers and pounding out requests from the crowd as well. And when Darryl took to the stage for his portion of the show, we broke into an impromptu Slayer cover. Yep, "South of Heaven." Did Johnny Cash ever do that one? I forget.
When we got back to our hotel, the Super Bowl had just started. We all ordered pizza and rinsed out our sweat in free wine while soaking up the rather potent dose of America being broadcast in the lobby. It was, however, dulled by the fact that Don Johnson was the color commentator for the UK broadcast, adding such insights as "the Colts have scored 22 points now" and "this is the Super Bowl." Clearly he should have stuck with his previous gig--fucking 19-year-old girls.
Sadly, the American commercials didn't make their way across the river. There's nothing more American than a good truck or beer or boner pill commercial and the Super Bowl, to be truly retarded, is "The Super Bowl" of product placement. In fact, I think they've added "Super Bowl Commercial" to the list of truly great "As American As..." things; If I'm not mistaken, it now follows "apple pie."
Feb 5
We eased out of bed, regrouped, and pointed the Concorde's nose toward the fair city of Edinburgh--our best bet so far for actually seeing some snow. It used to snow at least once a year in Alabama back when were kids, but for the past decade I can't recall seeing a single flake. No white, glowing earth, no days off work, and no snow ice cream. Yet the most prominent weather forecaster in our town denies that global warming exists. Oh, Alabama.
On the way to Kiltland, the Concorde touched down in Richmond for a hot lunch and for the ceremonial breaking of the door. Yes, a tour is not a tour until the sliding door breaks. So we spent the first half of what was meant to be a relaxing lunch pounding, pushing and jamming the door back onto its intended path; then we stocked up on the grease our stomachs would combust to get us through the rest of the day. We ate our food, loaded back up, and took to the skies again. Ajay thought it wise to prepare us for further missions by doing a bit of zero-gravity training by topping the hills at warpspeed on the A68 toward Edinburgh. Like good Boy Scouts and Vulcans, we are now prepared.
We played the Cabaret Voltaire, an underground cavern which was filled with the rankest of smells even before the horde of sweaty bodies filled the room. It smelled exactly like my mother's feet--the kind of jarring, immediate memory that is only possible in the olfactory realm. The Two Tears baited the audience, Plate Six bludgeoned them, and Sartain butchered and prepared their remains. You make it too easy, little lambs. But we will surely enjoy your succulent filets in the days ahead. And we will will never let your memory fade. 6/2--Never Forget!
With scant 5 minutes of rest after back-to-back sets, the Plate Six boys packed everything right back up and loaded the Concorde in preparation for a cross-country flight to Glasgow, where we arrived not much after midnight tired and hungry. We went out for the second-worst Chinese food I've ever ingested and headed back to the hotel for a nap.
Feb 6
Driving to Glasgow the previous night afforded us our first "day off" of the tour--the first time we've had a chance to do anything but drive, lift, sweat, and sing in the name of rock-n-roll. Our music license clearly states that any free time on tour be passed at the local record shop sifting through bins and bins of records, and who are we to break the law? So of course that's just what we did with our day.
Load in was a breeze--the kind of unhurried, lazy experience I thought I was signing up for when I joined this cult. We even had time to sip beer at the bar. We even had time to eat dinner. The experience was otherwordly in contrast to the hectic pace of the previous week.
The crowd in Glasgow was a bit slow to build, but Two Tears made it through just fine. Plate Six added a "new" song to the set--well, one we wrote a decade ago--and that changed things up a bit. Our set has been going from slow burn to white hot and back to slow burn, and adding the new song to the set helped to prolong the white hot phase. We finally remembered we had brought t-shirts, and with the help of our chief product model, Dan Sartain, we managed to sell enough to allow us to eat again once the Edinbugh filets dry up.
And speaking of Mexico's first test-tube baby, Dan Sartain, it was his time to take to the stage. Glasgow has always been good to Dan. It was the site of the best show of our previous tour (which he claims is the best show he's ever played in his life) and we knew Glasgow wouldn't let us down. We hit the stage, burned through the hits, played a few new tunes (the future hits), and then invited Darryl up for the full band show. We burned through Totem Pole, Young Girls, Thought It Over, and a few more to furious applause. Yes, this is the Glasgow I remember. For the finale, Wanted It So, Kerry (Two Tears) came up to sing back-ups and take care of Dan's fretwork. With Dan unleashed from his ball and chain, he was free to work the crowd up front with his best Mick Jagger while the band ripped through the song. It was Dan Sartain the front-man leading a full and burning band, and the most fun I've yet had playing on this tour.
Another quick load-out and back to our castle to catch what few winks we could in preparation for the grueling drive to London, and a very long day.
Feb 7
The Captain left ahead of us, bound for London on a different flight. He was off for a BBC Radio session, the cost of which was a 4:30 AM wake up and a 6 AM flight. The rest of us enjoyed the extra 3 hours of sleep and a much slower flight to London.
We got the full tour of the Kingdom's Asshole--the farm land of northern Britain--and our supersonic speed cut through pocket after pocket of wretched stench but did nothing to deter the foulness from coming aboard. Soon we were in London, set for a very long and hectic day. It was the 100 Club--fountain of legend, dungeon of rock greatness, and home of the most grueling load-in imaginable down two winding flights of stairs. We were greeted by the stage manager who told us he had called off the load-in crew to "save money" and that he was unable to help us as well. Fucking thanks be to thee. This left Darryl and I to heft case after back-breaking case down the stairs by ourselves.
The place is a dump, and after playing high and mighty stages for a week it was honestly a relief. Back home, we get most of our kicks off throwing together DIY shows in odd bars, art spaces, and community centers, and the tiny, awkward stage and moderate filth of the 100 Club made us feel right at home. After load in and soundcheck, we were off for a full evening of bustle. Both Dan and Plate Six crammed in interviews before the show, rushing from place to place in a frenzy. When showtime finally came, it was a needed reprieve.
Two Tears sounded great, with Kerry donning her beloved sparkly silver heels for the first time this trip. I have to say, they surely worked their magic. Plate Six was next, ripping through our set with the sort of reckless precision we've perfected over the years. It felt a lot like playing at home, and with that comfort in our court, we were able to really let it out. Dan hit the stage and it was business as usual. The Captain was at the end of a long, long day full of blood-suckers at every turn. Interviews, radio, cabs, flights, all to play a show like this--a sold out show in a hall of legend. It was clear the Captain needed a recharge, and when he hit the stage he surely got one. The stage-front was crammed with shouting, bouncing, dancing fools, delighting in the spectacle that is Dan Sartain and singing along to it all. We all soaked it up during the first few songs, and once recharged let it all back out in a glowing burst of rock-n-roll fury.
After the show, we were all beat, but the day just wouldn't stop. Now it was was time for the home-town after-treatment--hanging out with friends, fans, reps on into the night. Rest would have to wait until tomorrow.
