Thursday night I watched the presidential debate as much as I could until I got sick. It got me more worried about the future, so my head space has been out of whack. To me, going back 22 years to finish up part 3 of this mini-series about The First Tour seemed futile, hence the delay. I know this Substack reaches in to my past a lot, but I try to keep an eye on the future, almost like looking back to look ahead. Balancing between embracing the past but also looking into the future, while the culture outside fetishizes nostalgia and while we live with imminent fears of global warming, reversing women’s and civil rights, war, etc, it makes it even harder to look into the future with any clear head or hopeful lens. Perhaps our future may look like being in a band or scene; Small groups, doing something together for their own greater good. I don’t know how we can look to the big politicians or laws to protect us, so perhaps the idea that we band together and do our best to help each other out, locally, in a micro cultural way will give us space to respect, love and embrace one another. (Shrug emoji)
Now, back to our regularly scheduled program…
The First Tour Part 3
After our aimless 3 day, 1 gig stint in San Francisco, we headed up to Ashland, Oregon. This was the furthest I have gone out of LA, except for a trip to Florida when I was 8, and it put in perspective how freaking huge California is. We’re told growing up that the Bay Area is considered “Nor Cal'' but let's be honest, it’s the middle. Driving to Oregon felt endless, but luckily, Ashland sits on the southernmost end of Oregon. It is most famously known for its Shakespeare Festival and when we pulled up to the town square, we immediately understood why. After talking to Daniel (guitar) last week, he and I both agreed it felt like we entered some sort of lost world where nymphs, mystics, bards and hippies (?) all mingled in the grass, had drum circles and bathed in creeks.
We did Ashland and not Portland because: a) Portland was impossible to book and b) My cousin lived in Ashland and offered to help and was able to secure a gig for us at a beautiful tavern / restaurant in the downtown area, aptly named Ashland Creek Bar and Grill. A musician himself, he said it was one of the better venues in town. It was a gorgeous spot with picaresque outdoor seating and rustic and woodsy vibe that I’d love to go to for dinner ... Just not for a rock show. Since none of us were 21, we were forced to hang out outside until it was our turn to play. We watched our tour mates Two Minute Hate do their best in front of annoyed dinner goers for their 15 minute set from outside the venue.
NOTE: I am truly fuzzy on that memory. It’s quite possible Two Minute Hate actually didn’t play that night because of the vibes and the whole 21 and over thing… Maybe someone will read this and remember, because I don’t.
We fared a little bit better and my cousin was sweet enough to bring out a handful of friends to see us. Because the town was more of a laid back, kinda hippie scene, our pseudo math-y, surf-y, prog-y music kinda, sorta worked, but Two Minute Hate’s brash, uncompromising energy was not their vibe. Needless to say, none of us were too stoked on the night.
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We got back to the place we were crashing and I got to experience my first tour-drug-party-house sleepover. I took it upon myself to sleep on the couch which was nestled right next to a glass table filled with all of the powders, pills and paraphernalia you could imagine. I didn’t partake in the fun, and I still don’t. It never bothered me to be around it, nor do I care if people do it, it’s just not for me. Still, it is a funny thing to imagine an 18 year old me trying to sleep on a couch while dudes pop in and out next to me to snoot, snort and smoke away while my headphones blast “Signed DC” by Love from my Discman. Man, that first Love record will always remind me of that night…
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