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Tour Diary: 2001 > Page 1
Well You Know, Musicians, Those Artist Manques, Those Dirty Fucking Malingerers And Greedy Bread Gobblers That Believe That Playing Music Is Some Sort Of Sacred Calling Lionize The Touring Life Through Backhanded, Self-Satisfied Compliments That Are Functionally No Better Than 1000 Hours of Jon Bon Jovi Crooning About The Lonely Road And So We Will Have None Of That In Any Of Our Tour Diary Titles. Sorry. Move Along. There's A Website Out There That's Perfect For You. But It's Probably Not This One. |
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What the Hell Happened
To tell you the truth and to paraphrase Steve Martin, "we forgot." That's right. We just forgot. Pushing our niggardly (eaaassssyyyy) OXBOWian anti-success formula to places we've yet to imagine that it could go, we just forgot... that we were going on tour. I mean you see how we might do that. We were working on finishing An Evil Heat, our newest record, and adhering to a schedule established by our new label, Neurot, and at the same time have them believe that we were not assholes, oh yeah, and keep our REAL jobs, which at least in my case seem to consist of mostly cruising porno sites. And then a phone call. Nick Blakey: So we got a booking agent. Tone Deaf Booking. Out of Youngstown, Ohio. Not Nick: Booking agent? Nick: Yeah. For the tour. Not Nick: The tour? Nick: What the fuck? What am I? Talking to Vinnie Barbarino? The fucking tour your band, OXBOW, is doing with MY band, The Takers, this Fall, like WE'VE BEEN DISCUSSING! Not Nick: Let me get this straight: we've been talking to you about touring with The Takers? Nick: (sobbing... tape ends.) |
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But Nick Blakey, The Takers bassist, and a fine fucking fellow to boot persevered and through the accreted and crusted narcotic drool of An Evil Heat recording session that dragged us through no fewer than all of the following narcotics:
Fetanyl ...we understood that we would be touring. And that our tour would be booked by Greg Barratt at Youngstown, Ohio's ("if it ain't from Youngstown, it ain't slag iron" is the local legend) Tone Deaf Booking. |
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The deal was this:
THE DEAL Well we took it and after trying to convince the mewling Chris Keene (whose all time classic quote was in response to a shared OXBOW paranoiac urge to completely unload the van after the show in Youngstown so it could be locked IN the club, screamed: "the complete and utter futility of it all just boggles the mind!") from The Takers to drive a van to Chicago for us from Boston (if you must ask for a favor, make it large, unreasonable and costly for the favor giver�anything else you're just better off doing yourself) and having him refuse we, in a fit of pique, drove the OXBOW van. MEDITATION ON THE OXBOW VAN a) It must first have NO stickers. Those earmarks of the untalented. We abhor them. While we don't understand Fugazi's aversion to t-shirts, which can at least be worn, we hold fast on stickers, which do NOTHING, and if you EVER see an OXBOW sticker you KNOW we didn't make it and should consequently savagely beat the holder who in all likelihood is directly contributing and benefiting from the fuckification of American standards. b) It must first have cardboard seats. The cardboard is to keep the duct tape from sticking to your ass. Don't ask. c) It must have no fewer than 3 pictures of Domonique Simone by the AM radio. d) And for the journey out it should include 1) OXBOW drummer named Greg Davis, 2) OXBOW singer named Eugene Robinson, 3) a large caliber automatic hand gun, 4) several knives, and 5) and a handful of the aforementioned pharmaceuticals. |
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