I’m writing this while lounging on the ottoman in my hotel room, sunlight streaming through floor to ceiling windows, giddy with excitement about our sold out gig tonight at the Croxton in Melbourne. If there’s ever a band that needs to play a show, like, right now, it’s us. Jesus Christ, is it ever, and a thousand or so exuberant Aussies will go a long way toward soothing disquieted souls.
I’ve written about this before, and it bears repeating - whenever in doubt, and there’ll assuredly be a good amount of that in this line of work, call up a few friends and play a show. It doesn’t matter where. It doesn’t matter how many people show up. It doesn’t matter if you’re “ready.” And, for the love of god, it doesn’t matter whether anyone thinks you’re cool. In fact, it’s 100% better if they don’t, what with their Juuls and ill-fitting trousers.
It only matters that you listen to the part of yourself that, in your most triumphant and broken moments, grows toward the light, and sings above the din of other’s stubborn pain.