Category: Touring

It had been almost five weeks since the end of our headlining tour. I swear, it felt like I had concrete shoes, lugging all that shit out of our practice place and back into the trailer. What the fuck? Is five weeks really that long? We was outta god damn shape. Did we really have to do this again? The metal gods commanded we play festivals in Portland and then San Francisco, and we obeyed! Ja wohl!

We decided to ask Emily if we could stay at her place the day before we’d play, and break up our drive to Portland into two days. That stretch of Highway 5 from the Bay Area to PDX just isn’t worth taking all the way overnight. It’s too long and too much bad mojo on that road. You can’t pass a landmark like “Jump Off Joe Creek” and not think bad thoughts. Anyway, Emily was kind and let us check out some of her awesome art, make some breakfast, and shoot arrows in her backyard. This delightful guy was lucky to be out front. He was left bereft of arrows.

Chaos in Tejas is aptly named. I enjoyed a Saturday of watching loads of punk rock, but missed much more because of bands canceling, schedules changing, and sometimes just because the heat made me lazy. Saturday’s best band had to be Anti-Sect, who blazed through their set at Mohawk like seasoned pros. On Sunday, we prepped for our second show at the fest. My armbands were now an impressive showcase of summer fun.

we’d done back in January. I also had to grab extra cabs from our space to relieve Toxic Holocaust from back line duty. 

The show was a Tankcrimes endeavor, starting early with Fucktard and then Theories. Ex-Toxic Narcotic members went all wicked hardcore for their Bostonian-driven set as Opposition Rising. This night was also graced with punk rock from Japan (as they reminded us often) as Forward made their mark. Then Toxic Holocaust got the circle pit raging for their first appearance at our little local landmark. 

Finally, we were up. As I was getting ready, I remembered my wireless had run out of batteries. A wireless guitar set up is a funny thing to be worrying about at a punk club, but such is the way our theatrics have grown. We need a floor free of wires. I ran to the liquor store down the street and was set up again lickity split. The main reason I mention this is that while running, almost all of my keys slipped off the carabiner attached to my belt loop. What the fuck? I lost all my keys except… the completely irreplaceable trailer keys that only I had a copy of. Phew! This was all discovered later, mind, but a hurtful reminder I should have spare batteries in my case. 

I thought San Diego was a battle… they can’t compare to those animals in Berkeley! It was invigorating as much as it was frustrating. Stage divers all night (on a stage that says “no stagediving”), mics getting smashed, monsters getting punched, blood going everywhere… it was completely insane. Well, I did what I could to discourage the lunacy during two songs where we have characters on stage that are apt to fall over, but it was no use. These numbskulls couldn’t be reasoned with. 

By the end of the set, I was pulling kids on stage and did my own flip out into the crowd while feedback wailed. Fuck it, baby, that’s rock ‘n’ roll, and we were finally home. Thanks to all those who put us up, put us out, and put us on. We’ve got a few more shows coming up through the year, but it’s time for a break. Nothing can compare to this tear of touring and traveling we’ve been on. The ups, the downs, the fun, the tragedy, the nonsense… it’s absolutely mind-blowing, the amount of love we’ve received and the kinship we’ve shared. 

What else is there? Live for metal, die for… nah. 

Just live for metal. And bang on. 

Maryland Death Fest has become the premiere festival for extreme music in the United States. And there is a reason: it’s fucking fun.

with Danny of Malignancy

There is an air of lunacy, frivolity, and fraternity at MDF. Even the security (whom I’m sure others have stories of being too brutal) were friendly to the many crowd surfers, cradling them like babies and guiding them back to the crowd while spraying them with refreshing water. It was hot as blazes in Baltimore, but the fest was as cool as ever.

One of the biggest highlights for me was finally, FINALLY getting to see Haemorrhage. I’ve been pen pals with Luisma for near as long as I’ve been in a band. Impaled has done a split CD with them. We’ve hung out in Madrid while Impaled was on tour, but never played together. We cancelled a festival appearance in 2003 in Europe when our guitar player quit that they were also playing. They cancelled an appearance at MDF years later that we were playing. But finally, I got to be right up front and head-bang with these Spanish maniaxe.

Some other highlights included Infernal Stronghold, The Devil’s Blood, Cough, and Bethlehem. Of course, I saw much more than that and loved a ton of it. The organizers Evan and Ryan do an excellent job of picking bands and putting on a varied show in terms of metal and punk music, but homogenous in terms of high quality. Then to have so many friends gathered in one place year after year enjoying music together; that’s the real highlight.

After two days off of enjoying MDF, it was time to move on. We were joining up again with Occultist in Richmond, VA at Strange Matter for a Monday show. Our van’s AC must be top notch, because we didn’t notice the heat until it punched us in the face upon arrival. This was going to be a long day.

The show had something like 10 or 11 bands, many finding their way back on tour after MDF. I lost count on account of my heat fever. We enjoyed a lot of punk like Marrow, doomers Cough, grinders in Nashgul, the excellent blackness of Dragged Into Sunlight, and our buddies in Occultist. If you ever wanted to enjoy the benefits of a sauna while listening to good tunes, Strange Matter was the place to be. Even some of our friends in GWAR came out to join in the fun, albeit in their human disguises like some kind of Transformers: Pretenders.

Earlier, though, I had set up shop in the prep kitchen in an attempt to fix my amp by replacing the internal fuse. I was sweating like a pig as I prayed this was all I’d have to do to get my monster breathing again.

It turned out to be hard work. The internal fuse needed to be soldered in. Guess what kind of metal doesn’t like to stick to solder? Yup, the metal on a fuse. Fuck my life, it took forever with what I had to finally get a couple blobs to stick to either side of the fuse and then bond that to the leads. I was ever so proud of myself.

It was all for naught. My amp made a tiny buzzing noise and then that was it. It never lit up, it never did anything. There was something else wrong with it. I am so SAD!!!!! The repair seems to be beyond my meager skills and this makeshift workbench. Fuuuuuudge. No more V4B on this tour.

We played a very rough set, but plowed through in the 115° club. When we finished, I poured water all over myself and laid down on the concrete outside. One of our friends in GWAR walked by and called us pussies. I do love those guys so.

The next day we headed to a local Richmond stage shop, Backstage LLC. I still needed a speaker for my cabinet and Guitar Center and Sam Ash chain stores are garbage holes that don’t carry things like… speakers. What the fuck? Backstage came through with the speaker in stock, a 15″ Eminence Delta.

Backstage also had an OEM antenna replacement for Sean’s Sennheiser ew 172 G3 wireless unit. Sean had misplaced one of the antennae and them shits didn’t work anymore. He’d been wired for the last two shows. Sennheiser suggested a work around via their Twitter account with a scanner antenna from Radio Shat that had the necessary BNC Male connector (thanks, guys!). Instead, we lucked out and got the real replacement part.

Raleigh was next on the tour with a show at King’s. I got to set up my next workbench to replace the blown-out speaker in my cab.

Classy. The speaker had originally been soldered to the input leads, but I attached some blade-style female connectors to the leads for easy, solder-less connection. The speakers are two 8Ω attached in parallel, meaning each speaker terminal has a direct connection to the jack. Wired this way, it makes for a 4Ω total load, pretty standard for bass cabs. In series, the signal would go through each speaker to the next, and this would make for a 16Ω load, not something much desired for the power you want pushing a bass speaker. Is there mnemonic? I’m gonna make one up now: the Ohms fell in parallel, and in series… do the opposite. Shit. That turdy mnemonic needs some polishing.

The show in Raleigh was somewhat unfortunate in that our show was booked opposite another with our new friends in Cough and Dragged Into the Sunlight. This would go on for the next three fucking days. That sucks! If only we’d known or a promoter had checked, maybe we could have done some combining. Ah well… they were so close, people could walk to both shows if they wanted. We still had a fun show in Raleigh with a good local grind band, Priapus, opening. It was followed by two-piece power violence upstarts Backslider, then Occultist, then us. These two guys in the club didn’t like our set much, though.

All the bands from both shows were invited to the house of the Primitive Ways folks, the promoters of this event. It was bit of a cluster with a big party of folks, three vans at the end of a dead-end street, some neighborhood domestic violence, and then an impromptu bluegrass crusty train-hoppin’ band jam.

Our show in Atlanta had been a little fucked. The venue we were supposed to play had been shut down and the show got moved to a basement. This was going to be some ol’ school punk-off, something we haven’t done in awhile. Our show had grown quite a bit in terms of extraneous theatrics; would we pull it off?

Mangled started the evening nicely with some medical-style grind and death. Next up was Hot Graves from Florida, who excelled at grind with a good amount of humor. Occultist nailed it, as always. Next up was us, and it was insane. People rushing at us, hanging from the beams, being covered in blood… mad, I tell you, MAD! A cop helmet went flying and undid the hastily taped together extension cord that was powering everything, and greatest American hero Scott Bryan saved the day… by plugging us back in. After a furious set, Dino called last song as he was about to pass out from the heat.

We ended up all staying at the palatial new abode of the guitar player from Mangled. It was like a McMansion that was a victim of the housing bubble, with three or four bathrooms, tons of bedrooms, a huge kitchen island, and a closet with a cage door on it for the gimp. When he told us what he paid, moving to Atlanta seemed like a good idea. Except for all those other reasons to not move to Atlanta. We stayed the night, and the next morning Occultist, Hot Graves, and us all met at a Waffle House to enjoy the finer things in life… together.

Mobile, Alabama cancelled our show just a week or two prior to the show date. Hot Graves was taking care of these two last shows on our tour with Occultist, and they’d managed to secure us a venue inside a vegan restaurant in Pensacola called Sluggo’s. With time and everything else against this show would it be a success?

Sorry, this is no M. Night Shyalamabanana twist story; the show was pretty lame. I hate to complain, but we were asked to not to do blood or anything messy. There goes half our fun. I believe there were 15 paying customers. They were 15 of the coolest mother fuckers ever, don’t get me wrong. They even moshed as much as one could in the back lounge of a hippy restaurant. Alas, the anemia of the evening was felt across the board.

We still had fun with Hot Graves and Occultist. It was time to bid them adieu as we were driving all night to Austin for the first of our two dates at Chaos in Tejas. Occultist were great, and I’m sure they’ll be kicking ass on longer tours and making some excellent releases. In the meantime, poor vocalist Kerry needs to find some better razors for tour.

Onward through the night we went towards Tejas. Sometime in the middle of the day after passing through Florida, Alabama, and Louisiana, Jim pulled over to a rest-stop for a quick piss. We headed into this “Texas Welcome Center.” What the fuck. It was some kind of massive community outreach thing going on. They were giving away pizza, sodas, cupcakes… there were about eight old timey cowboys showing off real guns (and real bullets, I think)… there was a guy with a live owl perched on him… cops giving talks about drugs… a dude who let me hold a young alligator… all this free shit made me realize Texas wasn’t as afraid of socialism as I thought. I used to have a problem with Texas’ corporate welfare, dominance of religion over science, and corrupt gerrymandering politics, but I think a free slice of pizza and a cupcake has really made me change my mind.

We arrived at the Mohawk in Austin, Texas, approximately five minutes before doors opened. We loaded in, and a band was playing 10 minutes later. We were on in an hour, and we hadn’t even parked the car yet. It was fast and furious. I think that translated into our set. After a rousing jam by Mauser, we crammed onto stage and did our full show for the early evening audience to much warm reception. A quick load out followed and then finding parking in a horribly disorganized and overwhelming downtown Austin. And then… we got drunk. Very drunk. It was awesome. Our buds in Municipal Waste capping off the evening made it even more awesome, along with seeing a grip of old friends from Texas and elsewhere.

The bulk of our group convened at the hotel, drunken a little by booze, but more so by weariness. A late night discussion evolved into a three-way yelling match. About what? Good question. We are still scratching our heads, trying to figure out what we were fighting about. Sometimes these things happen. And sometimes I storm out of a hotel room with all my shit into the hot Austin evening and call my friend Kim Rae pissed off and taxi to her apartment and stay up all night drinking champagne and talking shit with her and her fiancee and then crashing out on her futon. Sometimes. 14 or so hours later, I woke up, much more refreshed and relaxed than I had been in days.

It’s not always rosy on the road. Later that day: “I think we were too drunk and tired to discuss anything.” “Yeah, I don’t even know what that was about.” “Sorry.” “Yeah, sorry.” And that’s how childish musicians can act like grown ups once in awhile when they’ve been friends this long.

Doktor Ross Sewage

Just three weeks had passed by since we finished the GWAR tour. We left the van in Richmond, VA with our stalwart new merch/monster Jim. While we were away, he took the van to get checked out, and there were no issues other than a busted lock. It appeared we were in the clear as far major mechanical failures were concerned. The costumes were left clean, the gear ready to go; basically we jumped back into a tour that was already organized, packed, and ready to go.

We flew pretty cheap outta San Jose and got to DC where Jim met up with us. Three weeks of our personal lives had pretty much just flew as well. The flights in and out of the East Coast for five of us ended up cheaper than trying to drive back and forth across the country. It was a wise move and way easier.

We stayed in Richmond that night. The next day we had off, so headed to the King’s Dominion theme park with some new friends and some of the GWAR guys to get our socks knocked off by some rolly coasters. The band that rides coasters together, stays together.

After all the fun, we headed to the jam space of Occultist, the band we would be touring with. They let us set up on their gear and get in a much needed jam session. We hadn’t played together in three fucking weeks! Despite Dino having toured for two weeks with Noothgrush in Europe as their new vocalist, he didn’t miss a fucking beat. We added a bunch of songs to the set and felt pretty good about our chances.

Sean was actually digging pretty hard on Occultists Sovtek Mig, which sounds a lot like a good ’80s style cranked Marshall. New tone someday? Maaaaaybe.

We headed to Pittsburgh the next day. Belvedere’s Ultra-Dive was kinda just that… a big fucking dive. The show room look like a 70’s dad had expanded his man cave with wood paneling and weird wooden shades that divided the room. The staff was super cool and the promoter Josh did a good job. It was a Monday, and apparently we did very well attracting folks on a shit night of the week. We played with some excellent bands, like Ratface (loved it!), Anthropic (grinded hard), and the curiously and unfortunately named (because they fucking RULE) Oh Shit They’re Going to Kill Us.

Occultist was awesome and nice to finally see at the beginning of our tour. Then we played, and people were god damned animals. It was basically use kind of playing, but more so resetting our microphones as people raged and danced on and off the stage. These punk nerds were left bloodied, beaten and beaming.

Speaking of microphones, I finally bought my own. I was so sick on the last tour. I’m sure we were all trading diseases from sharing microphones. I bought yer typical Shure SM58, because that’s what I could find quickly on craigslist. I’m hoping to up that to a Beta 58, which apparently has a bigger magnet inside, or something, so it captures more high end and clarity. I think. I’m an idjit when it comes to microphone knowledge, but I’m trying to learn. I’ve had more than a couple sound guys tell me to get a Beta 58 for my low, rumbly vocals to help ’em pop in the mix. In the meantime, the SM58 it is cat approved.

We stopped by my dear friend’s house, Meliora Angst, and she fed us some much appreciated pasta and veggies. Alas, we had to leave quickly and drive all night to the next show. I fucking hate night drives. Even if I’m not driving them, it’s not real sleep. Still, Mr. Dan Randall stepped up and did almost the whole drive till sunrise himself and got us safely to Boston. From there, we unsafely had to deal with Boston drivers. You are all assholes there. Seriously, learn to drive.

We ended up at Great Scott. The stage was a bit tiny, so we had to switch up some of the elements of our show a bit. Someone asked me on Twitter how we’d fit a robot on stage; the answer was we couldn’t.

I don’t think anyone minded, though, as the show packed in and was amazing. Razor Maze and Ramming Speed are never again allowed to play with us, because they shredded us new assholes. How can we compete with these fucking amazing young bands? Answer: break their fucking fingers. Look out, boys.

Occultist had a great set, and we again, too. Blood flew, feet flew, and there was lots of jokes at the expense of a little regarded ban on moshing and Boston culture in general. Everyone seemed to take in stride and we had a great time at a great bar. I also got to eat again at nearby Spike’s, my favorite hot dog restaurant in the world. Amazing buns, veggie dogs, and fried onions on top of scallions on top of green onions. I’m sure my breath was regal to anyone around me.

After the show we stayed with our friends from the Whore Church that we met and stayed with before in Boston while out with GWAR. These are great guys, and now I can fully endorse their amazing mix movie that I’ve watched many times since meeting them. If your a fan of the ol’ style mix tapes, with weird-o shit, disgusting porn, and horror movies, you’ve gotta get a hold of these guys’ DVD.

The final stretch, the final act, the big ending, the showdown, the finish line, the curtains drawing, the… end of euphemism. As we drove out in the morning from Poughkeepsie to Hampton Beach, our touring with GWAR was drawing to a close. Our brakes are squeaking and burning just a little, but there’s just no time to take care of it. We have to hustle for there are faces to rock off.

blog posting last tour, I’m still always amazed at how GWAR crafts a stage. Here’s Jim, Germ, and Gibby during the unload at noon.

The shit just unfold on stage after a quick assessment by Bob and Matt on the where’s of each piece of the set.

And then there exists the Castle of Death that GWAR will be spending an evening in.

I myself was given a special gift by GWAR for this final performance of the tour… I was to be decapitated onstage!

In the morning, Mr. Gorman had sprung it on me… I guess the rest of my band knew the surprise coming. Pretty much every GWAR show starts with a decapitation, and this tour cycle was no different. The first character to get decapitated was Death’s assistant, the deed holder (for lack of a better name). Bob told me I was going to be inside the suit this evening. No lie, it put butterflies in my stomach. What an honor for a geek like me.

Before the doors, I tried the costume piece on… holy shit, it sucks. It’s basically like being rolled up inside of a mattress. Foam on all sides, I couldn’t hear anything and my vision was cut down to two tiny slits. I could barely see in front of me let alone on either side. I was supposed to navigate my way to the front of the stage in this thing and NOT fall off? Holy shit. And I thought wearing some dipshit hood was hard.

The show began, and our band performed and had a great time to a totally insane audience. It was a nice ending to an amazing run with GWAR. After loading all our shit in the trailer, I headed to GWAR’s backstage and prepared. A spew hose was run through my pants making it even more nerve wracking that I might just fall over and bumble the whole thing. I put the upper torso on and everything turned into a muffled mess.

photo courtesy of Maclyn Bean Photography

I got the cue and managed to make my way to my mark. I emoted with my arms as best I could and then got just the barest glimpse of Oderus Urungus swinging a sword to my “head.”

photo courtesy of Maclyn Bean Photography

SPEW!!! I bent over to unleash a torrent of blood on the wanting audience. I really couldn’t see anything. I just tried to jiggle like a newly slain victim and get the blood everywhere. Maybe I saw some people dancing turn red, but it might have been hallucinations. I was breathing so hard under all that foam I nearly passed out. The sound of my own suffocation was louder than the music. When my part was over and the appliance was removed, Bob said I looked like a 16 year-old, grinning ear to ear. Confirmed bohab.

I took leave of the stage only to return for the encore with the rest of our band. Two of us, along with Laura from Kylesa, were unfortunately fed to the World Maggot. Sean, Scott, and I got to partake in beheading the beast. I can’t lie, I took great delight in shoving Dan and Dino into the hands of the slaves to become maggot food. That’s revenge for letting me be eaten at the end of the last tour in Portland, OR.

photo by Nicole Roberts

Finally, the last performance of The Road Behind. I took my place near the front of the crowd to get spewed on myself during the epic dedication to fallen scumdog, Flattus Maximus aka Cory Smoot. He passed during our first tour with GWAR in one of the most difficult times I’ve ever bared witness to for a band. This whole tour was dedicated to his memory. I think they handled it with class and decor, an odd compliment for a band known for being so vulgar. It was an impossible task but they met the challenge to get through it.

After the song, as every night, lighters were held high during a playback of Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.” I ran back to the stage and held my lighter aloft with the rest.

Photo by Nicole Roberts

As the song ended, the lighters were lowered. I grabbed MX2’s hand and gave it a hearty squeeze as I wiped my eyes dry. Dave Brockie kissed Cory’s guitar goodbye and then held it up for the crowd. Finally, it was taken off stage for the final time…

And that was that. Our second tour with the scumdogs was over. We’d been there for a most difficult time along with one of our favorite bands and their amazing crew. We walked away as family and friends. And after all the people had left, the gear packed, and the onslaught was over, naught was left but a very, very dirty floor.

Till the next time… our journey with GWAR, Municipal Waste, Kylesa, and Legacy of Disorder may be over, but after a few weeks rest at home, WE will be back on the road… it’s no lie. And you stupid fucking humans WILL pay money to die.

Check for upcoming tour dates at creepsylvania.com

Doktor Ross Sewage

postscript:
check out Maclyn Bean Photography for more awesome live photos
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Back in Baltimore at the Sonar… as close to a stomping ground as we have outside of the Bay Area. For once, we were going to play this stage outside of MDF. We were excited because it always seemed this was the biggest stage with a gnarly backstage where we felt kinda like rock stars. Upon arrival, it felt kinda small. We have been spoiled.

That is going to be weird getting used to again after six weeks of V.I.P. treatment. Once again, I’ll have to leave the Leatherman at home when going to a show. I’ll have to check my wallet chain or studded belt. Bollocks.

Continue reading “Ghoulection 2012: Transmission Six” →

Dateline: San Antonio. There was something I was supposed to remember in this town. Something someone said to remember. Whatev.

This was the first show of the tour with Kylesa. No lie, I was worried about their gear set up and staging everything in some of these places. Two drummers, keys, a theremin… what with our already full set up, this could get messy backstage.

I shouldn’t have worried. Kylesa are total road dogs and eminent pros. I’ve known Phillip and Laura for some time and they know what they’re doing. The rest of their crew is also top notch dudes. The shows are going to go smooth.

It was fun to surprise at least Laura with my appearance. I’ve surprised her before, showing up with Wolves in the Throne Room. With this band, she didn’t know I was one of the goons with a bag on his head. What a proud life to lead.

We headed to hot and humid Corpus Christi next. It was like driving into an old Voivod record cover, what with all the oil refineries. The downtown also was kinda like a ghost town. Maybe Körgull had laid waste to the citizenry. Nah, once it was show time, they all came out and we had an amazing show.

At this show I had to acquire a fan for my amp. I’m stunned how hard it is to find a clip-on work fan these days. See, Beefcake’s head broke, so he took Jase’s from Legacy of Disorder. Unfortunately, the GWAR stage set up requires things to be strapped down. So now Jase is using my old-ass Ampeg V4-B, which he apparently digs the fuck outta. But in this climate and running twice as long, I’ll be damned to blow out a transformer from overheating for lack of a $20 fan.

One girl in the crowd unwittingly showed us how to do the Graveyard Mosh. We’ve been playing that song since the beginning, but no one ever though about how it was done. It was awesome. Stick your arms out, head down, and start goose-stepping like Boris Karloff as the Mummy.

This guy also came out with the best unofficial GWAR costume yet. Beef-fake the Mighty. We were trying to figure out why he would wear something so heavy to a show in this hot place. Then I noticed every girl in the place wanted a photo with him. Smooooth.

The next day we headed to New Orleans for a one-off show away from tour. We were headlining a punk show at Siberia, the best metal / punk dive in NOLA. Maybe the only one?

It was a lot like a show back home… plenty of cavewomen and crusty dudes outside spanging and not coming in, and then plenty of punks on the inside. Some of the GWAR and Legacy of Disorder camp came out on their night off (to see yet another show?) and we had a great time. Total anarchy. Sammy from Goatwhore and Dez from High on Fire also attending was an awesome surprise. We headed to the French Quarter and drank away.

best shirt ever

Our troupe got separated as we headed to the van. I called Balzac, who’d been with him last. In hushed tones I heard, “yeah?” “Is Dino with you?” I asked, which he quietly confirmed. “Why are you so quiet?” I questioned. “We hopped the wall into the cemetery. Bye!”

The next day we drove through the ghetto in the lower ninth ward. Boarded up houses, closed schools with signs that hadn’t changed since 2005… Meanwhile in the French Quarter, lotsa white folks were walking round sippin’ on $5 lattes and buying tees that said “I got Bourbon-Faced on Shit Street”. Oi vey. NOLA, you’re a sad ghost of your former self.

On the way into Florida, I got one of my favorite regional treats. Mostly found in Georgia and Florida, so far as I can tell… boiled peanuts. I wish these were EVERYWHERE. They look like the inside of a teste, and they taste as good as one, too! Seriously, these are amazing.

We had a great show in Pensacola, FL that night and then drove all night to Orlando. The show was a bit of a cluster, having two venues run simultaneously side-by-side with largely the same crew. Three tour buses had to find parking, along with all the openers’ vans. All the spare tables for merch had been used up, so I jerry-rigged one for us and Legacy of Disorder out of a broken bathroom stall door I found in the back. That other show had a bunch of fancy hair cuts, tight jeans, and that new breed of hardcore tee that looks like it should be on Pauly D. from Jeresy Shore instead of at a “rock” venue. I wanted nothing to do with that.

The show went fine. As fine as it could while I took center stage because of the shallow space. My feet were literally up to the edge of the stage with Dino’s cymbal stands in my back. I proceeded to get drunk. Very drunk. I also had the best veggie dogs of my life from this dear street vendor. I ate four or five, I can’t remember. I just know I couldn’t stop.

Gerrity, who’d done merch for Municipal Waste, came to the show and by the end was unofficial caretaker of me and our van. Dan and Dino split with GWAR while the others went to lodge at a condo that Jim, (our merch guy) had secured with his sister. Gerrity DD’d my ass over to his friends’ place. Daniel, guitarist for Possessed, and his lovely girlfriend Lyndsey, put me up and made sure our van was safe in their driveway.

Sean, Scott, Jim, and I met up the next day to head to Jacksonville Beach. Having arrived early with GWAR, Dan had acquired quite nice looking sunburn while surfing, or whatever hippies like him from Santa Cruz do at the beach.

The show went great, and we drove all night (again) to Asheville, NC. I was impressed, never having been here, by the amazing cross-over of latte-sipping liberal hipster and gun-toting redneck, livin’ side-by-side. Kinda like Portland, but more rifles.

Asheville really is beautiful, too, with rolling hills and lush, green foliage. And monuments to the Confederacy. Well, ya can’t win ’em all. Anyway, the Orange Peel, where we played, was awesome with a huuuge stage and much ass was kicked. The next morning, we woke up to a flat tire in the hotel parking lot. It made us a little late, but I’ll thank my lucky stars it wasn’t a blow out.

We headed out the next morning to North Myrtle Beach for another House of Blues, Inc. gig. Nothing says down home southern blues like a chain of corporate interest held music venues decorated with the same kind of dedication to homogenization as a Starbucks. The super cool part about was any entertainer at the House of Blues got a free pass to the park next door, Alligator Adventure!!!

I can’t say enough about how cool it was to be able to hold a small alligator. I think they’re fucking cute buggers. All full of hate and cold blood. And the chinese alligators, the albino alligators, the amazonian crocs, the malaysian crocs, the 20′ croc… Holy snap. It’s geared to families, obviously, but I made the lone reptile showman give me, Laura, and Matt Maguire the full-on reptile lecture he’d give any school group.

Afterwards, I headed to the beach. It was beautiful at sunset, but a little depressing that all but one entrance for miles around was private. This is a beach for rich folk, and I got many funny looks as an interloper.

The show was as ridiculous as we’ve had yet. I’m pretty sure everyone was a little sauced as we bantered the night away. The playing? I don’t recall. I headed over to the Olive Garden to see my family, as advertised, and then passed the F out.

I woke up in Richmond, VA. We had stopped at Jim’s for a visit on the way to Baltimore. He went to his doctor. Turns out he’s had walking pneumonia. Shit. I’ll bet he’s not the only one as the sickness has been passed through all the bands this our. Ugh. I always wanted our metal to be the sickest, but this is ridiculous.

On April the Sixth, we returned. Our port of call was San Francisco, the homeland. We were to play the fabulous Regency Ballroom, where I’d seen GWAR a number of times before. Now, I was gonna share the stage with them for the best audience of all: family.

Yes, that’s Ma, Bro, and Sister Sewage in attendance and doused with a tidbit of blood. Pa couldn’t make it, he was watching over the littlest Sewage, my niece. I seriously have the best family ever.

We also had an amazing show. We’ve honed our act, tightened our chops, and delivered one of our tightest sets ever for our beloved Bay Area. We got to see a lot of friends and loved ones.

Sadly, my poor girlfriend was eaten by the World Maggot. She will be missed, until I can sift her outta the pile of maggot poo I collected. Here’s the tragic video. Try to guess which one she is! (hint: it’s not the dude)

It was hard to leave the next day, sleeping for just one night in my own bed. Alas, Reno waited! Reno, the biggest little shitty in the world. Reno is what Las Vegas would look like if it retired, lost its pension because its former employer declared bankruptcy, and then had to work as a Wal-Mart greeter so it could afford arthritis medication.

I was starting to feel under the weather AGAIN this night, maybe that affected my ‘tude. Still, we had a fun show and hung out afterwards in the casinos. I didn’t win anything, but I was gifted some much needed new socks for the rest of tour! Viva la différence.

We charged out of Reno into the Nevada desert towards Las Vegas. There were ghost towns galore, run down Indian reservations, and so many crumbled buildings with no one left to tell their stories. It’s no wonder the Air Force could hide something so well in plain sight out here. When I entered it into Google Maps on my phone, though, it just pops up. Area 51.

At least I think we saw Area 51. Or one of the gates to it. Who the hell knows, really? It was a long drive out of our way, dodging free range cows that sat in the middle of a darkened highway. Down a dirt road for twenty minutes, and we found an ominous fence. A door was slammed as we approached. I guess this was it.

And that was that. We headed out but not before stopping by the Little Áléinn for some souvenirs and completely average grub from one of the most foul mouthed line cooks I’ve ever encountered. Dino: “$7? That’s a lot for a cheese sandwich.” Cook: “It’s a fucking good god damn cheese sandwich.” Etc. A scene from the movie “Paul” was also shot here, but that’s hardly interesting because that movie wasn’t good.

We made it to Vegas that same night and met up with a small faction of the GWAR camp at the Double Down, Vegas’ filthiest bung hole punk dive. I highly recommend the “Ass Juice.” It’ll fuck your shit up good, as it did me, exacerbating my sickness further.

The next day I holed up in our hotel room. My throat felt like I’d gargled razor blades. Writing this days later, it still feels rough. This tour, though so amazing and maybe the best I’ve ever been on, has been a petri dish of communicable diseases from the get go. I wasn’t too sad to miss Vegas in the day, though. This town is full tourist douche bags. It’s built on artifice and vice. I don’t like to gamble, I can’t afford the shows, and so the whole artificial oasis sucking up so much energy and water in the desert is entirely lost on me. That said, we had a great show, though my personal worst due to feeling like I got mauled by a tiger in a magic act. Too soon?

Sadly, we would become bereft of Cartel Brownbuzzardepicbeard. He was doing sound for us and Municipal Waste, as well as tour managing for the Waste. He was leaving the tour this night, the first casualty of the Waste’s limited time on this tour. This was dose of reality that the magic would inevitably come to a close.

Tuesday reared its ugly head and our drunk asses had to be woken up for a drive to Salt Lake City. We were playing at the Great Saltair, which we thought was the location of filming for the classic flick Carnival of Souls. Unfortunately, it was not. The original location burnt down. Still, the place is cool, located on the Great Salt Lake itself. It smells like shit walking towards it, with scores of dead birds who’ve apparently tried to drink the over-salinated water. Stupid birds. According to those who swam in it (I did not) it was refreshing… until the salt starts to tingle and then burn your skin. It’s quite a sight to watch people walk for hundreds of yards in the shallow yet enormous lake and still only stay waist deep.

Thursday was the final day for Municipal Waste on the tour as we headed into Fort Collins, Colorado. The club was tiny tiny, and the security barrier was gone. Ruh roh! To add to the chaos, Mr. Tony Foresta was suffering more of the illness that was besetting the whole tour. Unfortunately for him, a sore throat seriously impinged his raison d’être. As a consequence, the night before in SLC, he’d made a sign up sheet for Municipal Waste karaoke. Lots of folks on the tour joined in, included a couple hooded menaces.

At the end, we all jumped up and let the Waste know they fucked us up… real good. Sayonara, fellas. Touring with these old friends was the amazing fun experience I imagined it would be. It’s weird when your expectations are actually met. In celebration of the tour, spew tech Germ doled out some final matching tattoo work to the Waste folks and a few of our own.

That blurry finger on the lens wasn’t a mistake… seriously, I’m not that bad a photographer. I’m blocking shit. You’d thank me.

From Colorado to… San Antonio, Texas. Fuck, that’s a long drive. We had to have a day off and drive all night to make the 20 hour trek. Plus, we added one hour for a little tourist diversion before the show that awaits us tonight. We had to see… who would survive and what would be left of them!

If you don’t recognize that building from a massacre that happened round these parts years past, then the saw is probably not part of your family.

If I have any more fun today, I don’t think I can take it!

Doktor Ross Sewage