Episode 21 - Alex Bachari

Episode 21 of the podcast features my good friend Alex Bachari, one of the busiest musicians in Nashville and currently on tour with Noah Kahan.

I stopped by Alex’s house a couple days before heading out on the Allen Store Fall Tour of Happy Dances and had a fantastic chat about life as a traveling musician, Joe Satriani’s miracle jet lag cure, and all manner of nourishing, music-nerdy goodness.

Bachari’s an insightful dude who attacks life with an appropriate degree of irreverence, aka my kinda sonofabitch.

Take a listen!

Trust the Chemistry

Grabbing a quick minute to tap this into existence before running the set one last time. We hop on the bus tomorrow and commence our two day trek up to Portland OR, where wooks shall be danced with, old friends hugged, and this rocket ship of a tour’s officially launched.

I think we’re ready. There’s always the nervous compulsion to run over that one part a dozen more times, or make sure I hit my lighting cue just so, and my younger self would’ve happily descended into a masochistic OCD hellscape - mercifully, the cultured swine writing this with his feet up in the SoCal sun knows it’s all about trusting the chemistry, taking a celebratory shot of the good stuff, and merrily hanging on for dear life.

Ok, back to work. This tour’s gonna be special.

Ryan Drozd is a Legend

I’m writing this on our lunch break, hastily gobbled pizza sitting less-than comfortably in my belly. Los Angeles is still resplendently polluted, the set’s coming together, and Ryan “Bear” Drozd remains the greatest tour manager in the known universe.

What does a tour manager do, exactly? In short, everything. Think of every responsibility you’ve ever had, juggle them simultaneously under retina-detaching stress levels, and extrapolate that times however many numb-nutted degenerates are in your touring party.

Bear begins working the minute he wakes up. He doesn’t stop working until he falls asleep, usually in front of his laptop. Advancing with venues, coordinating travel logistics and tech specs, guest list requests, making sure catering has a gluten free option…the list goes on and on and on and holy jesus I’m breaking out in a flop sweat just thinking about it. And, as if this wasn’t enough, he’s not exactly dealing with Navy SEALs - we’re all delicate flowers, needy and incapable of holding down real jobs, so this Herculean workload must be undertaken with a smile on his face and a song of infinite patience in his heart, even when he wants to light us all on fire for asking about the wifi password.

Tour managing’s an impossible job, and therefore an equally impossible superhero’s required. Enter Ryan “Bear” Drozd. And he says it’s good.  

Carter Adams is a Legend

Behold, Carter “Sick Dabs” Adams in his natural habitat. 

It takes about an hour to program one minute’s worth of lighting. Yes, you read that correctly. Given we’re at about a two hour set right now, you do the math - it’s a work load that’d make Elon Musk quake in his snakeskin boots. And we’re apt to improvise, so Carter’s gotta play the lighting rig like an instrument in real time, calling audibles based on the whims of five imbeciles. Scarily enough, he’s as good a musician as he is an LD, and more than adequate to the task.

I’ve never met anyone more capable of hunkering down and putting in an 18 hour day like it’s nothing. Carter’s infinitely patient and in every way the Mountain GOAT. Grateful he’s on this crew.

Cobwebs

I’m writing this outside our rehearsal studio on a resplendently polluted Los Angeles afternoon, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the black-on-black, skinny jean/beanie uniform in my many-hued Madiba t-shirt.

I’d originally planned on posting a picture of our full production set up, on account of its being super cool and Carter “Mountain Goat” Adams absolutely crushing the lighting design, but I was discouraged from doing so. Instead, I’ll offer simply that so far, so good. 

Yesterday was spent dusting off the cobwebs. We haven’t toured this ambitiously since 2016, or even played together that much save for a few one-offs, and these first few days are about rediscovering the chemistry - jamming, celebratory cocktails, and generally hanging out, reminding ourselves that we do, on balance, enjoy each other’s company. The pace is leisurely, which my jet lag appreciates, and there’s little sense of urgency, one of the benefits of having played a thousand or so shows together.

Palm trees are dancing hypnotically in the mellow breeze and, annoyingly, Phantom Planet’s “California” is stuck in my head. The only thing to do’s crank Sepultura to ear-splitting volume and meditate inside the Cavalera brothers shared rage.

Jet Lag Anecdotes

I’m writing this with my feet up on a road case, faithful band mascot/punching bag Chad and I unsuccessfully staying out of the way of our busy crew. Tyler’s just arrived, the rest of the band’s navigating the Thunderdome that is baggage claim at LAX, and soon our greater-LA area rehearsal space will come to life with funky(ish) jams and exuberant tambourine break downs.

It’s a little tricky concentrating over the slug beat jamtronica soundtrack courtesy of Carter “Mountain Goat” Adams (lighting tech extraordinaire), and a schmuck in a jazz hat, with his feet up no less, pecking away at his laptop isn’t endearing in the eyes of an already overworked Ryan “Bear” Drozd. Best, I think, to wrap this up and make a coffee run for my prickly, under-caffeinated friends.

Day 1 of rehearsals for the Big Tour’s officially underway! More hazy with jet lag anecdotes to follow…

The Adderalled Masses

I’m sitting on the porch of our Air BnB, enjoying a self-imposed jet lag day and 24 hours worth of blissful calm before a three month long storm. The band arrives tomorrow, the crew’s hard at work, and I’m luxuriating, swine that I am, coffee in hand, with the dulcet tones of the Devin Townsend Project keeping me company.

I’m not ready to mingle with the adderalled masses just yet. There’re views of both downtown and the Hollywood sign from where I’m sitting, and a favorite watering hole’s right around the corner, but I’m daydreaming about renting a caravan and disappearing into the Australian Outback until the universe tells me exactly what the fuck’s going on. Which really just means I need a massage or something.

I received a nice message yesterday from a MoaT reader, describing this newsletter as uplifting. As someone with the propensity and fortitude to dwell in dark places, I appreciate hearing that, sincerely. I’ve worked hard at finding humor in shared absurdity and, in some small way, I hope these daily writes help make clear that we are none of us alone.

In and Out

Writing a daily newsletter when you’re not 100% sure what day it is is a unique challenge, and as I’m about to cross the international dateline again, I hope my streak of writing something everyday since Jan 1 remains unbroken.

An important and unheralded aspect of discipline’s getting yourself back on track when life happens. The MoaT is a gentle exercise in accountability, and I’m amazed how the mindfulness of writing a little something everyday carries over into everything else.

So, here I am, composing a quasi interesting annecdote on my phone while waiting to board a flight to a place overrun by Bird scooters, feeling good about doing the thing I said I was going to do. I seem to be the least sweaty person here, which is rare.

In theory, by the time you’re reading this I’ll be eating In and Out (animal style, of course) with tour manager Ryan “Bear” Drozd, backline/stage manager Steve “Bluto” Libby, and production manager Tim “Tim” Burke. Tour rehearsals start in a couple days. 

Patiently Shimmering

I’m writing this from New South Wales, my time in Australia gracefully decrescendoing as I prepare for the hipster mosh pit that is Los Angeles.

I’m happy to be wrapping up my time here in Orange as opposed to Sydney - there’s something about looking to the Northwest, every immaginable star in an unspoiled sky patiently shimmering, and realizing there’s nothing resembling civilization for about two and a half thousand miles. There’s an impossible vastness to Australia, impenetrable and entrancing, and knowing I’ve barely scratched the surface irks me. But I’ll be back, sooner rather than later.

As I write this, I’m glancing at my guitar, leaning in its beleaguered flight case against the unlit fireplace. Miraculously, that hunk of wood’s taken me around the world more times than I’d ever dreamed, and unlocked doors I didn’t know were there to be opened.

So, when Ryan “Bear” Drozd greets me at LAX, I’ll be sure to give him an awkwardly enthusiastic hug, thank him for being the best tour manager in the land and, when he regards me incredulously and asks whether or not I’m ok, I think I’ll perform a jig.

Keep Listening

It’s a gorgeous day in Orange, New South Wales, my last in Oz until the band returns in April, and I’m reflecting on conversations I’ve had over the course of my stay.

On how changing broken systems takes work. Conversations about sexism, racism, and privilege are all related, and they’re complex issues that stir up emotions. But discomfort is an important sign that there’s something new to learn.

On how when discomfort arises around these topics, we should accept the feeling and keep the discussion going. Don’t change the subject. Don’t make your own feelings the center of the conversation. Sincerely try to understand other group’s experiences.

On how we must apologize for mistakes, and be willing to change.

And, above all, we must keep listening. It's hard. It’s important

Kindness

I’m about to disappear into the cell receptionless Australian countryside for the day, grateful to be spending the weekend with family and new friends before heading to LA for tech rehearsals. There’s a great deal going on at the moment about which I have a great deal to say, but for today I’ll share a quote I’ve been pondering:

For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.

Desiderata

I’m wandering around Sydney today, thinking about a poem by Max Ehrmann:

Desiderata 

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story. 

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. 

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism. 

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass. 

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself. 

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. 

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. 

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy. 

Endearingly Scottish

I’m writing this in the Qantas business lounge in Melbourne, downing flat whites (lattés, basically) like there’s no tomorrow, but very much hoping there is on account of my continuing to celebrate never having had a real job by way of a weekend in New South Wales wine country with my cousin and her endearingly Scottish husband. It’s early, and I’m tired to the point of espousing reptilian overlord conspiracy theories.

Playing a sold out show a 30 hour travel day away from your favorite Waffle House is a special thing and, as I alluded to yesterday, we needed it. Record company delays and head scratching attempts to “move the needle” frustrate any band, but especially one that’s made its bones, and makes its living, playing live - no shows equals grumpy comrades-in-arms, and we were all starting to fold in on ourselves.

We’re delicate flowers, us artsy-fartsy types, and as I’m caffeinating myself into unrecognizability, surrounded by movers and shakers in the Australian business world, one of whom’s afflicted with inspiringly catastrophic flatulence, I’m grateful to be hanging out for the rest of 2018 with the bing-bongs below.

When In Doubt...

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.

Episode 20 - Gideon Klein and Gabriel Klein

Trevor Larkin Talks and Listens Episode 20 is live!

Oh yes, the podcast roles on, jet lag and hostile marsupials be damned.

Gideon Klein and Gabriel Klein are a production duo based in Nashville TN. They’re two of the highest functioning musical minds I know - in fact, I was so impressed by our conversation that I booked a full day in the studio with them a few days later, resulting in three new Trevor tunes to be released this fall. Gideon and Gabe can play anything they hear on every instrument under the sun. I cannot. Though I am slightly taller.

Respective heights notwithstanding, I can’t wait to share our musical collaborations with you very soon. It’s my favorite stuff to date.

iTunes!

Video!

Patreon!

Keep Moving

It’s a chilly late morning in Lorne, and the wind off the Pacific’s turning my ears an unflattering pink as I shuffle along the beach, rough mixes of new tunes rattling through poorly fitting ear buds. I’m grateful to be here - a morning constitutional punctuated by cockatoo squawks can never be a bad thing - but I’m presently overwhelmed by the possibility that not many people will hear this music.

I don’t know that, of course - the tunes aren’t even out - and it’s all part of the conditioning I’m trying to break myself out of, the assumption generally introverted, loner types know too well, that ours is a solitary path.

Am I angry as I’m writing this? Maybe a little, but not in the lingering way that poisons dreams. Thankfully, it’s something different, nourishing even, a resolution punctuated by the biting wind - the only way through’s to grit your teeth and keep moving. 

Premium Lagers

The world always seems brighter when you’ve made something that wasn’t there before.

The jet lag’s lifted enough to go fishing for songs, and it turns out there’re a couple neat verse ideas floating around in the ether in Lorne. This isn’t the trip for finishing stuff - too many premium lagers to consume and Kookaburras to outsmart (wily bastards) - but my creative engine burns cleaner on the road, and I’m confidant the next chapter of my artistic life, and likely life in general, will take shape over these coming months on tour, one lyric, one melody at a time. It’s always better doing a little everyday anyway than waiting for inspiration, that elusive and capricious sonofabitch. This newsletter’s taught me that.

It’s day three in Australia, and I’m feeling caught up, peaceful and calm. I’ve been here a bunch of times, but it’s always for work (as much as you can call what I do work) and therefore go go go go, the only option for an overseas band lucky to break even. So, I know that I love Australia, and also that I’m never not exhausted when I’m here, and I haven’t really seen that much. This time around, I’m taking long walks on the beach, followed by hipster food and a nap. I almost don’t know what to do with myself.

A couple more days in this vibey beach town, then a rock and/or roll show to play in Melbourne, which is sold out I’ve been told. But first, more premium lagers…

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

Ok, I promised a picture of tour manager extraordinaire Ryan “Bear” Drozd’s suit, and here it is, along with Swatty’s equally impressive effort:

I also mentioned I’d be writing today’s post hungover, which I am. Fortunately, they say a picture’s worth a thousand words. Here’s another one - lighting, drums, bass, George Clooney, tour manager and keys:

The crew’s moving slowly this morning, but nothing a little hair of the dog can’t fix - lawn bowls and bloody marys in a few hours.

It was a beautiful ceremony, filled with laughter and legendary maniacs. Congrats, Allen and Tara.

Kookaburras

Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate that jet leg is a beautiful thing. I am, after all, writing this while the sun’s rising in Lorne, Victoria, Australia. The words are coming slowly, but the brain fog’s beginning to lift, and I’m registering that a Kookaburra tried to steal my kangaroo meat last night, which is now a sentence I get to write.

I don’t think I’ve ever been up voluntarily at 4am, and I’m looking forward to a couple hours of reading and beach meandering before the aptly and matter-of-factly named East Beach Café opens for business. I finished the Elon Musk bio on the plane, and next up’s The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe, which has been described as sci-fi’s Ulysses. While Elon’s inventing space internet, I’ll settle for a scone, some tea, and inter-planetary blood feuds.

In a few short hours, Lorne with be overrun by boisterous, sleep-deprived Americans and hungover Aussies, all gathered to celebrate the wedding of Allen Stone and Tara Lawson. It’s true - professional maniac Allen Nathan Stone, of over-sized sweater fame, my pal and bandmate, is getting freaking MARRIED! It shall be a party, ladies and gentlemen, and tomorrow’s post will be written likely while still intoxicated. Tour manager extraordinaire Ryan “Bear” Drozd’s suit alone’s worth the trip (photo evidence is forthcoming).

Humanoid

I’m currently 35,000 feet or so above the Pacific Ocean, enjoying my second gin and tonic and thinking about having a third. I’ve got about two thousand pages worth of dystopian sci-fi on my iPad with a violently snoring octogenarian enhancing the ambience, so the next 14ish hours are destined to be a jolly romp. Thankfully, “Humanoid” by Bernhoft’s been stuck in my head the entire flight. It’s a welcome companion.

Here’s a vibey live video from ten days ago at the Fillmore.

Or, if the studio version’s more your thing…

The whole record’s magic, the band’s insane, and “Humanoid” is one of the best track ones in recent memory. Feel free to dance spontaneously, activate the hips, and just go good ol’ fashioned bonkers.