With backline tech/stage manager extraordinaire, Steven J “Bluto” Libby, circa 2014. You’re right to be envious of our genie pants.
The band was still loading gear then, and it was the highlight of my night taking orders from Bluto and Bear, ideally not making a mess of their unmatched Tetrising. At the time, my relationship with the road was, to put it charitably, complicated - my previous life, one where I was comfortably ensconced in secure digs with a woman who loved me, was a year or so in the rearview mirror, and the idea of going home, such as it was, didn’t rate highly.
So, I kept moving. Tours ran into each other, and downtime was spent on couches, in hotels, and sleeping upright in vehicles requiring boarding passes. I was self-soothing through movement, not yet ready to confront the myriad changes in my life and what they meant.
Thing are now, in all ways, better. I love touring - every aspect of it, every job, permutation of a job, or haphazard flailing that passes as a job. Everything about life on the road’s preposterous, and as a dude who’s just smart enough to convince himself he’s got answers, being thrust into an environment where precious little makes sense is an invitation to set aside the tweed jacket and punk rock my soul into euphoria.