Paint The Country Red

The plan

Paint the country red. That’s the plan at least. Head north, then northwest, then south along the coast till Mexico and make a left. Head back east into Texas before trekking home. Three weeks. 23 days to be exact. 18 dates in 11 states. Two mountain ranges, one desert, and the only rain forest in North America. We left jobs, girlfriends, wives, pets, friends, responsibilities, bills, bars and the Oklahoma heat to play music for a segment of America that hasn’t heard our controlled chaos of harmony and melody. If all goes well and as planned we should break even (or maybe…just maybe, make a little money…fuck that would be nice), sell some cd’s and represent our home state well.

The last six months have kind of been a blur of stress and excitement. It seems like it was just last week when I cut the ever living fuck out of my left middle finger, and had to go track guitars at Stephen’s with nothing to stop the bleeding except superglue and a prayer. It was cold, the middle of January, and we had to make the drive to Tulsa to complete the record on schedule before Stephen had other things to attend to. Money was tight and we were so close to being flat broke. The finger held up, and the relief I felt that day was only rivaled by the joy we all felt when we heard the first rough mixes of the songs. It was at that point the real work began. We had talked about touring west after our weekend excursion to Colorado the month before. We talked about routing and promoting what would become “To the Sons and Daughters of Woody Guthrie”. But after hearing what Stephen had thrown together for us, we knew that was what we had to do. We had to keep the pressure on the world to notice us. This was going to take a degree of planning and commitment that, while hard, was exactly the challenge we wanted. A sink or swim moment if you will. A proverbial gauntlet thrown down by the gods of all that rocks to put up or shut up. Get busy playing, or get busy regretting that we never had balls to do what we all said was our dream. Get to the precipice and jump pussy! Well we jumped. All in with our eyes closed and our hearts open. And here we sit in the van we just christened “Jean Claude Damn Van”.

Jean Claude Damn Van

It’s Jonathan’s van actually. His everyday vehicle he likes to say. Newly spiffed up with fresh tie rods and a custom stereo job courtesy of Kicker audio. The stereo, to say the least, is loud. The TV however does not rock the low end. PS2 for movies and overly competitive NCAA 09 football games can make drives go faster. The trailer holds all of our gear and merch, as well as the luggage, bedding and miscellaneous foodstuff. In this van that we’ll call home for the better part of month are your humble narrator, Dally, Brad, Garret, Jonathan, Melissa (Dallas’ wife) and Jonathan’s beard. Tour nicknames in same order – Tiny Pine aka Scraps, Cool Boobs aka C.B. aka CooBoo, Snow Cobra aka Snow Cobe aka T.M. (tour manager), Kung Fu Panda aka The Panda aka Garr Bear, Abraham aka Abe aka Jo Jo, Merchy aka Melisser, and Franklin Elliot Beardsworth (for some reason Jonathan’s beard’s nickname gets the full treatment). It’s comfy, spacious, the back seat is motorized and folds down into a mattress, and the AC is operating at peak efficiency…for now. So far so good


So I’m not really sure what the ultimate point of this blog is. Is it for us, for you, for nostalgia at a later date? When Dally pitched the idea of doing a blog, I agreed without contemplating any of that. And I foolishly didn’t realize that I would have to do all the posting. They like to act like I’m the only one who can string words together, but I think we all know better. I don’t mind really (but we’ll see how long that lasts), but I wish I could type better. My brand of hunting and pecking is probably as painful to watch as it is to do. Luckily the video portion of this is the Snow Cobe’s responsibility. And he’s actually pretty good at it. There should be quite a few wepisodes when all is said and done, so enjoy and know that while working on this shit does makes the miles fly by at a quicker pace, there isn’t wireless between Kearney and North Platte, Nebraska…and I think I’m fine with that.


red city radio


About this entry