Carlsbad Caverns, New Mexico. This was the day my lovely girl Wanni called me with
the news that our super awesome cat Einstien had been struck by a car and died. Einstein was my very first pet ever and Wanni & I were, along with the entire block, madly in love with him. The Carlsbad Caves were magnificently beautiful. Truly a gift from the heavens. But my mind was on the memory of poor Einstien and getting back home to Wanni. The 1 Second team were just awesome and showered me with plenty of love. Once back on the surface, I found a little spot to be with myself, cried a little bit and then got on the bus headed for Austin.
Austin, Texas. There were plenty of reasons why Austin should have been a four star memory for me- It was a return to my old hometown back when I was a scrappy five year old, my Dad was coming to visit and see the band for the very first time, we were playing this charming eatery on a picturesque outdoor stage that stood under a beautiful tree. The weather was perfect that night. And it was friggin' AUSTIN. But it had been a rough couple of days. My beloved cat Einstien died, my girlfriend was stressing hard, the 1 Second Team was divided and lacking focus, my band was sucking eggs and I got into a loud match with Levi & Co. for arriving late again and parking the bus too far from the stage (making load in a real bitch). But, mixed feelings aside, it was still super fine to sit with my Dad for an hour over burgers & sodas which were DELICIOUS and comped by the friendly owners. I'm stoked that he finally got to see the band, even if we were only half-speed and I'm glad he got a copy of the new album which I'd worked so hard on. An he's now a producer of the 1 Second Film.
Houston, Texas. After the meltdown in Austin, everyone miraculously agreed to pull it together and give 110%. We were all assigned specific responsibilities and when we arrived at Lucky's Bar for it's grand opening, everyone jumped out of the bus and hustled like pros. Levi rocked the lighting, Lisa and Juli roadied the amps and tuned the guitars, George did the drums, I did the P.A., Sarah did the merch booth while Nirvan and Mike handled the video setup. In less than an hour, everything was ready to go. It was so beautifully executed, it was hard to believe it was the same motley crew from the day before. The show itself was a different bird altogether. The acoustics were awful. When the band rocked it's 2-song intro, out came a massive wall of room echo. Noone got it. Then Nirvan stepped up to do his presentation. Again the bad sound. Plus, folks just weren't down for an hour-long presentation- they just wanted to drink beer and party. For our encore Evangenitals set, I lowered our volume and leaned over to Juli and whispered "Everything about this show is going to shit. But my grandma's out there and I'm going totally balls out insane with or without you guys. Are you in?" And with that, we performed our best night of the tour! The sound was a little better. Juli was great. I was an enthusiastic foil. And our audience got nice and drunk. Believe it or not, Miss Texas even showed up and so we took some photos. But best of all was seeing my Grandma, cousin Mary and other relatives having a great time. Grandma even got up onstage and sang along with us and about 30 other new fans on a song called "Home". She had so much fun. Afterward, Nirvan's dad (who had set up the event) invited all of my family to eat in the VIP lounge. Everyone else remarked that Houston was our worst stop on the tour. But not me. I was so proud of the 1 Second Team for rising to the occasion, despite the shitty conditions. Also it gave me such great joy to see my family that, for me, the Houston gig gets the big thumbs up for its unexpected emotional rescue.
New Orleans. A heartbreakingly beautiful city where the music continues to leak from every crack of every wall in the French Quarter. God I love this town. I think this was everyone else's favorite stop. For me, it could have been momentous as it really is my one of my favorite places of all time. But, on this particular day, it was hot as fuck and Sarah was clamoring for black jumpsuits. I turned her down cold and I could tell she was pissed at me again. But I'd been at odds with the jumpsuits since Day 1 and now every cell in my brain and body was pleading for light clothing and with it, some mental health and peace of mind. Then I start catching serious heat from Juli about the suits and being a team player and yada yada yada. I fucking snapped inside. Those suits were like Chinese water torture to me and if I had to stay in one for too long I'd surely go nuts. I was terrified. Already I was this perceived rabble-rouser and now I was sure to make some big ugly stand before The Team and piss on their dream of black jumpsuits. The idea of yet another confrontation threw me into such a serious funk that it wasn't until we toured the Katrina ruins that I was able to settle down and get out of my head. That was a sobering visit and, thankfully, put everything back into proper perspective.
Florida. St. Petersburg is one of Juli's many hometowns. Juli's mom, Linda, got us a gig playing an assembly for "the good kids"- the one's with a "C" average or something. Naturally, they went ape-shit over the whole Andy Dick/Tom Green feud, especially when Andy started humping the couch. They loved Juli, too. I enjoyed this show alot. Perhaps because it was short. It was great having 50 or so kids get up and play "Home" with us.
Next up was the Tampa Skatepark. Still at odds with various forces within, but I loved winning over all those young punks onstage. It was a bit like "River's Edge" in that the area was a fucked up little wasteland town and the kids still had that defiant spirit you might expect from such a place.
But there was also an innocence and still some hope in every kid's face. They idolized Juli and it was so much fun playing the role of "old-skool-punk-guitar-guy-from-L.A."! Later that night we had tacos with some of the locals, including this huge 250lb black kid who everyone kept calling Oprah. That night, I bribed Sarah with $5 if she wore her red skate helmet onstage.
In Satellite Beach, we performed at another high school where Nirvan was once class president. We had arrived the night before and parked directly in front of the campus. It was particularly warm so I slept on the roof. The next morning, I snuck off and had an Egg McMuffin and an O.J. at McDonalds. That's right, McDonalds! Now, I hadn't darkened the door of any such establishment in probably 10 years, so you have a pretty good idea of how famished I was. Of course, I kept this little excursion top secret from the 'Move-On' mind police:) It seemed like everyone on board either ate vegan or simply didn't eat at all. This was not easy for dedicated omnivores like George or myself. More than a couple of times, we snuck out to find something a bit more hearty. But I wasn't a total eco-trainwreck. After all, I was the only cat on the bus who brought his own coffee mug. Almost everyone seemed content with disposables. So there you have the great hypocrisy. On my return from McD's, I witnessed a secret rocket launch from Cape Canaveral. Apparently, rockets are sent up all the time but nobody has a clue who, what, or where they're headed. Really bad for the environment.
We pit-stopped in Port Orange to shoot a quick music video for "Not Quite There" (featuring more young skaters) which was fun. Then off we went to our final Florida gig in Daytona Beach where we performed at a nursing home for thirty or so elderly veterans. Juli made a decision to play it safe and clean with our "family" setlist for most of the performance while the near-catatonic vets barely responded. Yet, close to the end, someone got a case of the "fuck-its" and suggested busting out "Gasoline" for these dirty old men. Who were they fooling anyway? How many drunken whores did they hump while off in Korea, anyhow?!?! And, right as those opening cowboy notes sprung from my guitar, sure enough something deep inside these once vital soldiers began to move and sway again. Tap, tap, tapping along to the dirty beat of an old hillbilly staple, smiling through the pain and dementia of injuries, old and new. Man, it was a sight.
And finally it seemed as though the 1 Second Film had found its heart. We were told, later on, that some of those old soldiers made genuine breakthroughs that odd early afternoon. That some who normally refuse to participate had miraculously chosen to do otherwise that day, and by doing so perhaps allowed themselves to maybe heal a little bit.
Savannah, Georgia. By far the sweatiest stop of the entire trip. But there was an intriguingly swampy "Midnight In The Garden Of Good & Evil" meets "Art Center" kind of vibe there. I liked it. And the change of scenery inspired me to try and see things with a new pair of glasses.
George and I somehow mustered up a shitload of "sales energy" that day and hawked credits in front of the bus and plugged our show that night at the Guitar Bar. We were team players extraordinaire. The Guitar Bar seemed like it was gonna be amazing. I even recall overhearing Juli remark that she absolutely LOVED IT afterwards. For George and I however, it was amateur night all over again.
When we showed up at the bar, my first impression was that it was a great spot for a show. Downstairs was for drinking and upstairs was for gigging. The owner was cooking up some chow and so, hungry as hell, I placed an order. I was slightly disappointed that there were no comps or even discounts for the band, but whatever. After supper, I had the daunting task of setting up the sound (P.A.) for the evening. For some reason, the lights were burned out upstairs and so I asked management for a light bulb. They seemed annoyed and replied, "OK!- just like we said earlier, we're busy, but we'll help you in five minutes!" Wha?!! Earlier?!?! Five minutes?!?! I had only asked once. But get this- they never did come back with that light bulb and so we struggled needlessly in bad light for nearly 2 hours trying to get the sound right. What was crystal clear, as the night wore on, was that these Guitar Bar cats were all style and no substance. We played the show, got a decent draw and a great response. Juli again brought down the house.
But as hard as I tried, I still couldn't get into it. This wasn't the Evangenitals. This was Evangina with an electric backing band. George and I felt pretty much useless having to hold back and respect the dynamics of an Evangina setlist. We could've been replaced by anyone and no one would have noticed. I was really missing Jason's killer bass and the broad catalog of songs that came with him. Moreover, Lisa was talking and playing guitar onstage more than ever, competing with Juli's bits. It seemed a bit selfish to me. We had talked about this in band meetings. It was agreed that, for the good of the band, she was going to reign it in a bit. But on this tour, just the opposite had occurred and it was now very clear to me that Lisa and I want different things. I had been pushing for growth. Learning our instruments. Singing in key. But Lisa prefers the simplicity of Evangina. There was no point in fighting her. For me, this revelation, which arrived at a most inconvenient time, was wholly disheartening.
At the end of the night, we carried our gear through the building and into the rain. Somehow during our set, the downstairs had transformed into the naughtiest of Britney-esque nightclubs with underage tarts and freckled frat boys grinding it out on the dancefloor. It was fairly surreal. The Guitar Bar must've made a ton of money that night. They paid the band $19.
