MTV does TLO

Posted in TV on October 4, 2012 by thelightsout

In the final season premiere of MTV’s “Jersey Shore,” Gym Tan Laundry became Gym Tan Lights-Out.  MTV aired our “On Fire” song, “Get Away,” as the backing track to Snooki’s quest for sobriety as a mother-to-be (20 seconds in):

http://www.mtv.com/videos/jersey-shore-season-6-ep-2-no-shame-good-integrity/1694977/playlist.jhtml

And a few weeks later, on Episode 6, “Steal Your Sunshine” stole Vinny’s sunshine while a stroller The Situation bought for Snooki dug into Vinny’s nuts on the ride home:

http://www.mtv.com/videos/misc/851233/what-would-a-meatball-do.jhtml#id=1696257

On MTV Soundtrack (1) (2)

In the Globe

In the Phoenix

On Fire

Posted in Albums with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 29, 2012 by thelightsout

We’ve been holed up for the last month or so, trying to get the poison out. Don’t get me wrong, it can be a sublime experience making music, but if you ask anyone who does it on the regular, they’re going to know exactly what I mean by that. It was a busy fall, in which we spent some time driving around the Eastern Seaboard in support of “Primetime,” seeing this and that, like that guy with a shiner getting arrested in a Portland Denny’s at four in the morning (where we washed up stranded, because the hotel sold out literally two minutes before we arrived and we needed somewhere to stay warm until the sun came up). He was so calm and reasonable about it, too. I guess the rage must have blown over, because by the time the cops got there he was basically expecting them. He just finished his coffee, then got up and got in the back of the car to head to jail. Matt went out to sleep in the sub zero van, the rest of us picked over our breakfast burritos and held the coffee cups to our solar plexi in an attempt to get our core temperatures up. What was I saying? Oh yeah, getting the poison out. Sorry Denny’s! I gotta have love because the waitresses were so kind and let us hang out until sunup, then they found a plastic bottle so we could fill the radiator to make it back home for our tour closer in Boston. But that omelet was, shall we say, merely rented.

Anyway, the thing that keeps us interested is writing new stuff. It’s not long before I start to feel like I’m in The Lights Out tribute band if we aren’t forging ahead, and I know the guys feel the same. So once we got off the road everyone took a collective breath and decided to set a deadline for ourselves. We booked time at Mad Oak in Allston with board wizard Benny Grotto (now operating on a mixing console once used by Robert Plant, among others), marking the first time in the 10 or so records I’ve been a part of that I’ve returned anywhere. And after this second round, I gotta tell you it’s looking pretty good to head back for thirds as soon as the next bunch ripens. At the time though, it didn’t feel like we were quite ready, so there was pressure to make sure we showed up prepared. For a band like ours, that means parsing the details back and forth quite a bit: nailing down tempos, deciding which chord goes in that little turnaround before the solo, shaping the right keyboard patches, figuring out how it’s going to work live versus on record. Some of the lyrics were written hours before they were cut. Some of these songs have been years in the making, some fell out of the sky in 10 minutes. Most fell somewhere in the middle of those extremes, and there was a lot of push and pull between competing visions for both parts and songs. But the end result was hitting the studio as oiled as it gets, and at least in my case, just a little bit pissed off and aggressive in the right way.

On the day we went in to record, the sun let loose its largest series of solar flares in nearly a decade, which continued the whole month we were there, in an event called the “solar maximum.” For an album named, “On Fire,” that is some alignment.

Even though nobody really listens to a record all the way through anymore, and even though I believe the song to be the logical nuclear unit of what a band does, it still seems to make sense to make and record songs in batches, and that opens the door to overarching themes that, intentional or not, tie the batch together. At the very least, they were all finished over a block of time, and we were experiencing life in a way that was unique to that chapter. In the case of “On Fire,” the songs reflect a lot of turmoil: whether in love or drugs, or standing up for yourself, or deciding the best course for that day is retreat. I don’t think it’s a happy record, but I’m happy to say it’s our best one yet. We added Adam to the roster of lead singers as he stepped up for a number, and Jesse kept it going with one of his own. Adam’s decision to add keys to our sound worked out better than any of us could have foreseen, as he evolved in one short month from lead guitarist to band colorist. Matt just keeps laying down one secret weapon after another. I mostly hear what everyone is doing in the jam space, but it’s always a real treat to sit in the control booth and hear the bass singled out, realizing all over again what a monster you’ve got rumbling around in the basement while you’re screaming from the rooftop. The Jackettes swooped in to grace us with their amazing voices, and we got some brogasmic background vocals from Dan from OldJack, Rick from I, Pistol, the incomparable Jason Dunn of Dirty Bombs and The Luxury (welcome back guys!) and Phil Fleming from WMFO. Thanks y’all! It meant a lot to us, and it definitely improved things to have you there.

So today we’re tweaking the mixes — on leap day, no less — which will be very minor tweaks because Benny f#@king NAILED it. Then we’ll master this weekend. Then we’ll sit back and listen once as fans, give ourselves the chills and feel that sense of accomplishment. And then we’ll put it away and move on to the next one.


“On Fire” press buzz:


Take a tour through “On Fire”:


Own “On Fire”:

TLO Gets Kinky, Doesn’t Get In Fistfight

Posted in Shows with tags , , on February 26, 2011 by thelightsout

…because if you only know one thing about those kooky Kinks, you know Ray and Dave didn’t get on so well. That can happen when one of you is a very talented musician and the other is a bona fide lyric genius force of nature. We fight a lot nicer than those guys, since we’re saving the real aggression for the time we have to punch our way out of town and not look back until we hit the county line. Here’s how we became the great, forgotten Kinks for a night.

One time at the famed Rock n Roll Social at the Model Cafe, Adam and I were speaking with our good buddy and protean talent, Brendan Boogie about his cover up series of shows. Brendan has had bands come together to do everything from Fleetwood Mac to lord-knows-what, just by way of keeping the scene interesting for ourselves and the people who love it. Anyway, as the booze flowed along with the conversation the talk turned to doing a British Invasion night. So right away, you’ve got the Beatles, the Stones and the Who. Oh yeah, and that other band that always seems to draw the short straw. I can’t remember whether it was Adam or I who first suggested it; probably we both caught the same wave, but one or the other of us said, “We’ll do it if we get to be the Kinks.” BAM! Done. So all the sudden we’re curating a deep body of work, trying to pick among the gems, both the hits and the deep cuts, and realizing that we jumped in up to our necks without really thinking about what it would entail to do these songs justice. But we had several things going for us right off the bat: one, we actually feel a kinship to their musical sensibilities; two, there’s not a lot of big orchestration type business to get around anywhere, and three, everyone we told was like, “Oh my god, that’s going to be great! Nobody ever does the Kinks.” And four, I think these guys hold up exceptionally well in today’s hipster-soaked metascene, where everyone knows it all and nobody can be surprised or impressed. Flying relatively under the radar, the Kinks hit that sweet spot of stuff you know, stuff you wish you knew, and stuff you didn’t realize you knew, but damn, they do that one too? And that one! And THAT one!

The show went down in the basement of the Lizard Lounge in Cambridge, one of the best intimate rooms in the area. Four bands, four British Invaders. Right off the bat, The New Million Box nailed the meticulous craft and sweet, sweet harmonies of John and Paul and George and Ringo. They stuck to the early years, which I thought was a great move both because that’s the real invasion material, and also because early Beatles always gets short shrift in favor of Sgt. Pepper onward. And also, how are you going to pull off the second half of Abbey Road with less than twenty players? Whatever the case, they acquitted themselves very well, and the crowd let ’em know.

Next up was The Guilded Splinters as the Who, and let me tell ya, that dude leaks charisma. Ink on arms, porkpie hat on head, crazy-ass sideburns springing off his cheeks like wizard eyebrows, and a whiskey soaked voice that pinned the Daltry growl to the Townsend whine without ever losing itself in either.

Our buddies in Muy Cansado grabbed the baton and ran with it, doing some spot-on renditions of classic Stones, again from their lean-and-hungry days (meaning there was no Harlem Shuffle, thank you Jeezus). Of particular note was the powerhouse guest vocal turn by Leesa Coyne on Gimme Shelter. So it’s “grape murder, it’s just a shot away, it’s just a shot away”? You learn something new every day!

By the time we hit the stage, the capacity crowd was amply warmed up, and I’m pleased to say we wound ’em up even further. We kicked it off with You Really Got Me, moved through Brainwashed, Sunny Afternoon, Father Christmas, Waterloo Sunset and Victoria (both featuring Adam Ritchie on vox!), Village Green Preservation Society, Lola (of course), Picture Book, Tired of Waiting, Dead End Street and back to All Day And All Of The Night (which is pretty much You Really Got Me, so we had to split them up in the set). I’m probably forgetting one, but you get the idea. In hindsight, the thing that really sticks out for me about the Kinks is just how varied and diverse their output was, all the while being held together by the drop-dead brilliant wit of Ray Davies’ lyrics. It was a humbling reminder to get busy plumbing my imagination, and not to be afraid of getting weird, or pissed off, or both. And now we’ve got just a few more sick covers to bust out at parties and jam sessions, or if the crowd is throwing beer at the chicken wire in front of the stage.

Read music writer Jim Sullivan’s in-depth interview and show feature here.

Always Ready to Go

Posted in Albums, Shows with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 3, 2011 by thelightsout

There’s a dude getting ready to get in the van and rock.  As she sees him off, his woman implores him to remember to keep her in his heart while he’s out on the trail.  He spends his time when not on the road in a state of not-so-secret disdain for his day job, dreaming about the day he can leave it all behind forever.  Elsewhere, there’s s hungry young gun trying to make his bones as a press photographer in the big city, looking for an in to the stars, hearing from his editor what it’s going to take to get the shot.  And out on the wild rock and roll road, the first guy doesn’t take long to fall off the wagon in several senses and leave her after all, ’cause he’s just got to be free to live it all the way!  He’s not too politic about it either, although he did take the trouble to say it in a song.

Meanwhile, just above the atmosphere, just above our ability to detect, there’s a ship full of creatures who followed our radio transmissions back to us from a very long way away.  They first picked up the opening credits of I Love Lucy, with that satin heart and Ricky’s band tearing through the theme song, and they followed the trail all the way up through Mary Tyler Moore, to Roseanne, to Jersey Shore.  At which point, deeming us unready, they retreated for at least the next thousand years, to watch and wait…

…while the fence posts fly by and the rumble strip keeps him awake in the driver’s seat.  It’s still another six hours to Philly, to play to thirty people if they’re lucky.  Then New York, DC, Baltimore, Richmond, then back in time for work on Monday.  Yesterday was her birthday, but he doesn’t feel right about calling her anymore, especially not since the blowout over that last drinking and dialing fiasco.  And on top of that, it turns out that hot bartender in Cincinnati has a thing for touring bands, emphasis on the plural.  Ouch!  Underneath his cool, he thought they might have been more to each other, but it looks like he thought wrong.  She was witheringly unconcerned about it, too.  Enylise would have never done that to him.  It’s too late for that now, though.  But you can’t let it show, you gotta be hard, you’re on your way, man, buck up!  Still, that little devil desire sitting on his left shoulder really did a number this time.

After enough times through the circuit, cities all blend together into colored streaks of neon and sodium glaring against the rainy windshield as the wipers keep the beat.  He got close, but the peak happened two years ago.  It’s becoming impossible to deny anymore; the draw has been going down for awhile, and the fire in his belly is sputtering, too.  But what next?  Time to be a man and make amends if he can.  Even if it’s too late, at least he can tell her he finally knows what it means to have something real.  Maybe that will be enough to win her back.  Will it?


That is the CliffsNotes version of our quasi-concept record, “Primetime,” released at 12:01 on 1/1/11.  To the best of my knowledge, we at least share the distinction of being the first band to hold a record release on 1/1/11 in the history of earth, although I suppose someone could have put out a gramophone 100 years ago.  Ah man, someone probably did.  Well then, the first release of 2011 anyway, and the curious numbers on the calendar line up nicely with the title of the record: 2011 is a prime number.  So is eleven, the number of songs on the record, and of course, the number our amps go to.  These little synchronicities are what make life interesting for us, and we’re all very happy that New Year’s Eve just happened to fall on Friday night this year.  We want to thank Church for continuing to treat us so well and for providing a great stage to have a party with everyone!  Our friends and show openers Apple Betty cheekily exhorted us to go to Tennessee, to go to Alaska, to replace that TP roll when you use the last square, I mean it’s not hard, ok?!  The Upper Crust was a revelation of tight, AC/DC punch and powered wig aplomb tied to aristocratic disdain.  JustBill outdid himself as usual with great camera work, both video and still, and Joe Turner surprised us with by stepping in last minute with a laptop full of projection imagery to kick things over to the next visual gear.  These guys really helped make it a show and not just a gig, if you know what I mean.  Thanks, dudes!

We also have to shout out to Boston Music Awards “Producer Of The Year” Benny Grotto (Aerosmith, The Dresden Dolls) and Mad Oak Studios for delivering what I think is a superb sounding record.  The experience of recording it could fill another blog, but I’ll just say it was the smoothest ride, best sounds and most fun I’ve ever had in a recording studio.  I hope you’ll agree that Benny did a great job of getting that live urgency out of us, a notoriously tricky thing to accomplish in the petri dish of a tracking room.  We can’t recommend these guys highly enough.

So now what?  Well, it’s time to go out and play our record about playing out, and try not to live through some of the worse moments our protagonist brought upon himself.  We could be writing our own future, or we could be living vicariously through an imaginary guy as we take a less toxic and parallel track and keep the rest of our lives together while logging those road miles.  Or both.  Or neither.  But it’s been immensely satisfying, and gratifying to make.  We’re looking forward to seeing you soon, wherever you are, to find out if we tickled your rocking bone. (Don’t be dirty, you know what I mean.)  See you out on the trail!

Own a copy of “Primetime”:

Take a YouTube tour through “Primetime”:

“Primetime” Buzz:

AOL Music

US Airways Magazine

The Music Slut

  • “Premiere: ‘Primetime,’ The Lights Out”
    • A theme record about the pursuit of fame: why we do it, what we gain and lose while we’re working toward it, how it can be earned or stolen, the business of building up and tearing down celebrity, and wondering what “making it” means in this day and age

New England Cable News

The Boston Globe

The Weekly Dig

The Phoenix

The Deli Magazine

Ryan’s Smashing Life

  • “For Those About to Rock”
    • In the top 5 live rock bands in New England…devoted to their art, improving with each new release…at the core of the scene…value to that longevity…better than ever…2011 promises to be the rock band’s best year to date

Boston Band Crush

  • “C.D. On Songs: The Lights Out – ‘Primetime'”
    • Full of happening…whirls around you…mobile rhythms punctuating splashes of bright, melodic guitar…fuel for your stomp-tastic dance moves…thumps out like an accelerated heartbeat……total power saturation

Syracuse Post-Standard

Syracuse New Times

  • “Rockin’ The Relay”
    • A meticulously produced collection of heavy guitar grooves, memorable melodies and soaring harmonies

Albany Times-Union

  • “At Valentines”
    • The aggressive record is called “Primetime,” and they are ready for it

Playground Boston

Exploit Boston!

The Noise

Mandonna comes

Posted in Shows with tags , , , , , , on November 2, 2010 by thelightsout

but once in a lifetime.  You either read about it, were there or you heard about it.  We’re still recovering from it.  For those outside Boston, the way it works is every Halloween, many of the bands in this town take advantage of the occasion to dress up as another band and do a set of their material, just for one night.  In a world where your last release is fresh for all of six or seven minutes, it takes a certain amount of commitment to the spirit of the last pagan holdover holiday to stop writing and pushing for a month to get ready with costumes and 10 other songs that you wouldn’t ordinarily be caught dead playing.  Well, we never cared too much about being that cool, so it was with aplomb, tongues in cheek and socks in bras that we decided this was the year to cover Madonna.  But not just any old Madonna, FOUR different iterations of Madonna.  And since we’re dudes, we decided to grow out some beard action just to round out the looks.  Hence, Mandonna!  I became “Desperately Seeking Susan” Mandonna, Adam transmogrified into “Blond Ambition” (a.k.a. “cone tit bra”) Mandonna, Matt, our Halloween expert, horrified as “Like a Virgin Mandonna,” and Jesse slutted it up as “Like a Prayer Mandonna.”

Speaking only for me, this was the first time I’ve ever been in drag, and ladies, I have an entirely new level of respect for the time, expense and pain of making yourself pretty.  Well, at least prettier than I was before, whatever that means.  But holy crap, what a ritual!  First of all, fishnet tights don’t last very long.  Two wearings, in fact.  But my gams have never felt so supported, encased as they were like two sinewy sausages.  Because the skirt was short, I gained a quick appreciation for the bunny dip.  It’s just not the same when your junk hangs out by mistake and you happen to be a dude.  Guys are all lumpy down there; it ruins the illusion.

We’ve done a couple of these things now, and our rules of thumb are simple: it has to be an artist with enough hits for everyone to sing along to, and the visual appeal has to be there.  Otherwise, why dress up?  Madge offered us the opportunity for a deep catalog of great songs, which it turns out most everyone in the sold-out club, Church, knew by heart, and a lot of different awesome looks to choose from.  And the opportunity to dress like  a chick!  As a raging hetero who long ago came to terms with his latent homosexual tendencies (it turns out they’re latent), it’s the kind of thing where it helps to have an excuse like Halloween to do without inviting the ridicule of your friends and the horror of your family.  Not that I’m agin’ it, you understand.  If you wanna sing out, sing out, and if you wanna cross dress, cross dress.  I think Cat Stevens said that once, before that near drowning in the ocean incident that turned him into Yusuf.  Although he was pretty good at the Rally to Restore Sanity from what I hear.

So anyway, in addition to us, we had our good friends The Luxury in towels and face cream as The Go-Go’s, and Midatlantic as Lady Gaga.  “Guys Doing Girls” was the unofficial billing, and these ladies killed it dead, and the crowd of freaks and naughty nurses, pirates, rock stars, Colonel Sanders(!), et al showed their appreciation in spades.  By the time it was our turn, everyone was good and loose on Saturday night in costume, and when the opening riff of Material Girl first came out of Adamdonna’s axe (we went without keys), the crowd ERUPTED, and I knew it was going to be sublime.  And so it was.  Mattdonna writhed around the stage for Like a Virgin while Adamdonna took over on Bass, then Adamdonna did his best Vogue dance, which was disconcertingly good.  On the last “vogue” the crowd did the delay for us by chanting it over and over.  Brilliant audience participation!  Jessedonna killed it on Like a Prayer, in keeping with his look for the night.  We rocked Papa Don’t Preach like a draggy Bon Jovi who thought they wrote it themselves, replete with fist banging breakdown in the middle.  I heard a lot about that one later.  When it was over we hightailed it over to JustBill’s to rage until Dawn (although I cut out at 4:30, still respectable I think).  All Saint’s day broke over some bloodshot eyes and ringing ears, but we’ll do it again in a bloody heartbeat because Halloween rocks in Boston like nowhere else on earth!  Or even in the darkest chambers of hell.

“You guys dook it so f#!king haaard!”

Posted in Shows with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 29, 2010 by thelightsout

I think she meant to say, “duke,” but Gigi is an uberhot lawyer from Cincinnati by way of Turkey(!), and we pretty much laughed our asses off all the way back to Boston because her accent made it even funnier. What’s that you say? You don’t know what duking is? Friend, have you ever come to the right place! Here’s how it is: some people do it, and some people duke it. Don’t do it; duke it! As founding father Benjamin Franklin once said, ‘Anything worth doing is worth doing well. And anything worth doing well is worth duking.’ TLO always tries to duke it when we rock it. And judging by Gigi and a bunch of other exceedingly hospitable and crazy people on Friday, duke it we did.

We were invited to Cincinnati to play the MidPoint Music Festival. What a lineup: Spacehog, Surfer Blood, Best Coast, Holy Fuck, Phantogram, Ted Leo and TLO. 2,000 miles, 40 White Castle sliders, 50 hours of sleep collectively over four days (duke the math), roughly 120 beers, an unknowable quantity of shots and a hell of a lot of fun. The first order of business was Philadelphia on Wednesday, to a repeat engagement at the Blockley. And incidentally, if you were listening to Danny Bonaduce on the radio in Philly that day, you would have heard him plug the show and talk about the last song on our Color Machine album, “Danny Partridge.” Ha ha! Our nefarious plan worked! That sure did charge us up for the show. Meanwhile, we love the Blockley, and on top of that we had one of those awesome road moments when we realized we were playing with Dive, a band we hung out with last year in Delaware when we played Dewey Beach. Great dudes, tight band in the general vicinity of Three Doors Down, good songs, excellent singer. I love meeting fellow warriors in odd places like that, it totally makes you both feel like you’re going somewhere when that happens. And thanks to Adam’s APO “brother,” Megan, from his Syracuse days, we were spared the search for a hotel and instead lugged our stuff down the narrowest hall imaginable with ten-speeds along the walls, around the corner and down the stairs to her awesome basement flat, stuffed her kitchen full of amps and drums, ourselves into our bags, and slept the sleep of the dead. Thanks Megan! That’s one more friend made, one less hotel room, one more tank of gas, or more realistically, another twenty-five beers.  Next morning we found out that hipsters are the same wherever you go, when we breakfasted at Cafe Lift, one of those boutique breakfast places with twee indie on the system, cat eyeglasses on the waitress, art for sale on the wall (pretty good stuff, too), bright red painted steel pipes running along the ceiling.  And mind blowing huevos rancheros. Jesse and Adam split this monstrous cannoli french toast with bananas and chocolate and pistachios all over the top.  Fueled up and ready to skip town!

Once again, it was APO to the rescue of the band!  Brother Denise let us roll our stuff into her dining room once we hit Cincinnati. It turns out she’s a metal chick, which we found out when we got to peruse her astounding collection of Poison memorabilia, especially that dreamy Bret Michaels with his man-dana and his cowboy hat, and his pouty pucker, and those eyes like limpid pools…*sigh*

…ahem. So we killed the rest of the night at The Comet, where it was confirmed a second time that hipsters are hipsters wherever you go. It was like we fell into a wormhole at the Model and got spit out at Cafe Lift, and then we got spit out again at the Comet. On to the Northside Tavern, then knocking off 20 White Castles and one mini bovine.

The next day was a lot of checking out the city, waiting for the musicians to wake up, waiting for the sun to go down. Being mistaken for Spacehog(!).  We got a great recommendation from Dave, a writer from Cincinnati music blog, Each Note Secure, to drive over the river to Kentucky to the Hofbräuhaus for schnitzel and beer. I’m not usually big on Sausages (that Bret Michaels crack up there was a joke.  I swear!  Ok, well just don’t tell the missus), but it was the very best sauerkraut I’ve ever had, and the beer was excellent and came in these huge glass tubs with handles on them. The only thing that would have been better is if we could have gone at night, because it looked like it gets going pretty well in there. It’s a true German beer hall, replete with flags from the fatherland and benches heavy as church pews, sturdy enough for a drunk to stand on and opine, or maybe sing if it’s late enough in the evening.  As it was, we needed to get to the club to make load-in.

The Mainstay Rock Bar sports a nice high stage, and a rustic timberframe vibe.   Since we were on first, we got the holy grail treatment: soundcheck!  Not that it matters that much anymore because we kind of mix ourselves with amp volume onstage.   But still always nice.  By the time nine pm hit, we were a tasmanian devil of twitchy energy, waiting to, well, to duke it.   It’s that moment in the set, usually about three songs in, when it begins to dawn on the crowd.  That may be my favorite moment in a live setting: the moment when people realize they are witnessing a real band with real ambitions to write real, lasting, well crafted songs as well as bring the energy of an arena act to a club stage.  At this point in our quest, we have the element of surprise going for us in that way.  And although it will be nice once everybody gets it finally, I’m going to miss these times when we can anonymously show up, rock out, and blow people’s heads off. Anyway, it didn’t take long after we finished the set that we started hearing from the very effusive people that they dug it! Including Gigi, her husband Oğulcan, who along with their friends, Courtney and Mai, dance in the Cincinnati Ballet, and a couple of singers with the opera. Now that’s cross-pollination! How come we don’t get ballet dancers at our shows here in Boston? Then again, I can’t say I’ve been to the ballet recently. Regardless, they were some kind of fun!

Saturday: kicking around, waiting for sundown, playing bocce at Neon’s. We saw Tom Tom Club that night. I think they were great, but truth be told things were a bit foggy by then, so I’m taking Matt’s word for it. He’s the Talking Heads guy anyway; he knows better. More adventures running from club to club, checking out bands, meeting up with new friends, getting marked with glitter and pulled into house parties.  And one singer teaching himself, AGAIN, that the hard stuff can sneak up on you and you should just stick to beer, fool! But do I listen to me? Usually yes. This night? Not so much. Don’t think I’m proud! But up til about midnight-ish was a peak experience. Like Adam said on the road the next day, feeling sick to his stomach from chowing his share of our second 20 sliders on an already balky stomach, “I’ll do it again!” Not, “I’d do it.” “I’LL do it.” As in “I will.” Now that is what I call commitment! Naturally, the early start we had envisioned for Sunday was not in the cards, and we kept waffling between stopping in Syracuse to break up the trip, or to just chug the whole 1,000 miles back in one shot. Ultimately we did the latter, made it back by 2:00, home by 2:30, bed by 4:30, and after all that reconditioning of my circadian rhythm, up at 7:30, which is just crazy, but I didn’t have to work that day, so I knew I could nap later.

Whew! So that’s the condensed version, if you can believe it. Five days in 1,387 words. As we move into the regular touring phase of our career, it feels really good to know we made waves, made friends, and want to go back and make some more music there soon. And yes, we duked it hard. Very f#!king hard.