Editor’s note: Blazer Sparrow was supposed to submit his column, but he's not returning calls, and his mother phoned us yesterday asking where he was. We assume he's dead. May he rest in piss.
Unrelated, we did receive this barely legible letter written on partially burned gas station toilet paper. It seems somewhat tour-related, so we just decided to run it as filler—hopefully you like it. Forbye, who cares…you still have pages of titties to look at.
Dear Tour Diary,
It’s been six days without non-gas station food or an actual bed to sleep on. Pretty sure I have jaundice and am missing most of my teeth. I've learned that cocaine has very little food value. Beer has some food value, but definitely not enough. It turns out that even though vodka looks like water, it’s much less hydrating.
When I set out on this west coast excursion, I was expecting a luxurious paid-for vacation. So far, it definitely has not been the case. It's anything but luxurious, and so far, I'm in the hole a few hundred. Not sure why I did this again. Something about living the dream? I'm not even sure anymore. It's possibly about fulfilling childhood fantasies, but it clearly isn't even as cool as they make it seem in the early Brand New music videos.
Now, don't get me wrong, there are some perks. Sleeping between a loveseat, a footrest, and an Ottoman, with a towel as a blanket. Some hosts hook it up. There was another night where I scored a van bench with a roll of paper towels as a pillow—livin' large! Another night, I ended up in a bucket car seat (which seems to be a thing in the places we stay), but I woke up on the floor. The car seat was nowhere to be found.
I did not listen to the sage-like advice of bringing more socks than I thought I needed. You’d think one pair per tour date would do it, but you'd be dead wrong, especially if you're playing somewhere hot. It got to 97 F in Chico. You'll sweat through one pair by lunch beers, and then, by the time you're on stage, that second pair is done...might as well play barefoot. But then you're one of those obnoxious bands that play barefoot, and at that point, just give up. Maybe I sweat more profusely than others. Definitely has nothing to do with the whiskey and pills.
The drives are nice, especially since I don’t have to do any of it. Gather 'round kids for this most sage-like advice I got as a wee touring musician! Always drink too much on tour so no one asks you to drive! Added bonus because then you'll also be too hungover to drive in the morning. It worked for Thom Yorke; it can work for you, too! Lunch beers are your friend.
I have no idea how bands get hotels. Do labels pay for them? They can't be paying for them with payouts from the show...or merch sales. I suppose it would help if we had merch to sell. Either way, it's definitely the kindness of strangers giving us places to stay. And when they aren't kind, or as they'll tell the police, "we" weren't kind, we simply improvise. It's important to know that not all the benches in the parks in San Jose have those dumb anti-homeless people dividers. Or if they do, I was too drunk to notice. A good night’s sleep is just a brown bag 40 oz away!
I do recommend playing small towns. Not just cause you're likely to be the only thing going on for miles but also because it's a logistical benefit! Naturally, after the small town show, everyone is gonna take off in different directions to plow a townie. It can be a little stressful trying to track everyone down in the morning, but the smaller the town, the easier it will be to scoop everyone up and head to the next stop. You can literally drive around in the band van, screaming every band member's name till they come runnin' like kids after the ice cream truck. It's their fault if they don't catch the bus while it's leavin'.
I suppose if you’re still reading this and wondering why we embarked on this folly excursion, I'm not even sure anymore. Go to LA, they said. Follow your dreams, they said. I think by now, we all know that the only people who should follow their dreams are the ones whose parents are already in the industry. There's no money in this anymore unless you have the Disney Channel on your résumé.
If you do go to The City of Angels, be prepared to be treated like absolute dogshit. The thing about being an unsigned band going to Los Angeles to get noticed is that literally every other unsigned band has that idea. The market is beyond saturated, and they know it and are sick of it. Everyone thinks this is some mecca. And yet, every musician I talked to down here said the same thing. "Don't move down here. This ain't no mecca, man. This place is fucked."
Well, I might as well make the most of it while I'm here, since the ice cream truck left without me. That's the problem with the bigger cities. You can't hear them call your name. Oh well. I’ll live above a donut shop and work at a 7-Eleven or some shit. Being in a band is overrated anyway. You save a ton of money and time not being in one.
I lost my phone and all my contacts, so no idea how to get ahold of anyone. I attached this handwritten letter to a bottle rocket, aimed it north, and just hoped for the best. If you're reading this, I'm more than likely dead, so bury me with my records and tell everyone I hate them.
Sincerely,
[Redacted]
