I’m writing this from the Seattle/Tacoma International Airport. I’ve been upgraded to first class on my flight to Nashville and figured I’d better write this now before indulging in a couple two-three complimentary cocktails and offering up a long-winded reptilian overlords post. At some point, Tom Brady will rip off his ill-fitting skin suit and sing, with disarming melodiousness, battle hymns from his home world.
I digress. Canada was great! Two festival dates under our belts, the Truck Stop Concert Series in Vancouver and Rock the Shores in Victoria. We’ve been playing together for so long now that a “bad” show’s not really in the cards. I had some gnarly technical issues during Rock the Shores - failed power supply, an overdrive pedal literally disintegrating during our set, thereby shorting out the entire board, and my having to jury rig a solution involving exposed live wires, all during the Canadian debut of “Brown Eyed Lover” in front of 10,000 people. But I was able to handle things with relative ice in my veins because I knew the band had my back, Bear’d adjust in FOH, and Tim’d tweak the ear mixes like a goddamn champion.
Chemistry’s a powerful thing. At this level, it’s a given everyone can play - it’s kinda the least important factor. There’s no fancy lick or aptitude on a particular console that substitutes years in the trenches together - guys who know your playing better than you do, can cover your tuchus, and like you well enough to mourn your death should the haphazard MacGyver bullshit go sideways.
When Tom Brady finally reveals his saurian self to a long-suspecting Bill Belichick, I hope this crew charges with me in the first wave of resistance.