On Friday, February 13th, Tankcrimes head honcho Scotty Karate took his magic touch to grace the historic 924 Gilman punk club. Scotty put on an epic show featuring bands with releases on Tankcrimes. It’s the first time in my own recent memory that Gilman hosted a sold out show. And I made a poster for it.
To say the show was a success is an understatement. Punks ages 8-80 (literally) came out to be a part of the festivities. Connoisseur, Brainoil, Born/Dead, The Shrine, and of courpse, Ghoul… it was a line-up so heavy, it had its own orbit.
Oh, man, you were so excited! The big tour! Your chance to be a star! You and your band head out on the road looking for fun, fame, and riches. Well, at least fame. Well, at least fun. You’re having a blast out on the road and then it happens. You find the street diamonds by your van or your trailer door is open. You’re no longer a guitarist because you no longer own a guitar. You get mad.
Fuck you, car! Why didn’t you fight back?
It’s not your fault that someone stole your shit. We live in a cruel world. You can take some steps to curb thievery, however… so actually, it is your fault. What can you do if your gear gets… taken? First, call Liam Neeson and have him throat-punch a mess of thieves until he recovers your stuff. If he’s busy, though, here are some other options to curb theft and retrieve your precious.
My good friend (name-drop) Cremator hosts Ghoul’s Burning Questions show. I feel like you should check out the latest episode. Quite a few of their live antics are included in this one. I think he makes many reasoned and cogent suppositions on the show. Quite a handsome fellow, too.
In this article, half of the duo making up Pomplamoose explains that it’s very hard and expensive to tour. With this basic conjecture, I agree. Then Jack details how their recent big tour cost $147,000 while they “only” made $135,000 on the road. Exqueeze me? Pardon me while I choke down the “go fuck yourself” itching to get out my throat.
Whoops, couldn’t hold it in
Buddha says calm the fuck down. Pomplamoose, despite having made big bucks on iTunes, YouTube, and advertising cars, is an indie band. They are independent of a label and make quite a bit of dough releasing their own music; the dream come true. Sure, sometimes that music straight up rips off Prince’s Let’s Go Crazy or something, but hey, sometimes our band rips off S.O.D. (all the time). And sure, he’s got a website he co-founded that gets millions of dollars in investment money to fall back on. But we are musicians and therefore brethren of a sort. The first Impaled tour lost money, too, but we learned (to not agree to a $50 guarantee ever again). So let’s be constructive and see how we might help Pomplamoose make ends meet so poor Jack doesn’t have to fall back on that multi-million dollar start-up he’s got going.
[Originally published in the August 2014 issue of Bulldozer Magazine]
Back in the ‘90s, I went to a Good Guy’s Electronics store. I was looking for a new record player as my old one had broken. I couldn’t find any, so I asked the salesman for help. “You want a what?” We found a floor model and it was literally the last record player they had. I tried to explain that some people still listened to records. If I didn’t have a record player, how could I listen to “Welcome to my Bone Yard” by Impetigo over and over? The salesman didn’t care. He thought I was an idiot for wanting to hold onto my vinyl. I thought he was an idiot for never having known the majesty of Ultimo Mondo Cannibale.
My vinyl collection is Dis-Organ-Ized.
Believe it or not, there was a time when you had to explain what a vinyl record was at a show. “Are you guys selling calendars or something?” No, little one, this gigantic thing plays music. But now records are back. I watched as they climbed back into the awareness of folks’ minds as a collectible item while the ubiquity of iPods and digital files collapsed the music industry into a whimpering baby without its binky.
Tampa, Florida. What kind of bat-shit insane place protects feral chickens that are a god damned invasive species in the first place? A $5,000 fine awaits any poor fool that fouls with these fowls. This is either a side-effect of the heat or the bath salts.
Like Diamond D, I was made crazy from the heat
Nevertheless, we had a great time at the Orpheum. The staff seemed a bit nervous about our antics, but the owner really came through and let us stage all our ridiculous shit in otherwise verboten rooms. I know it’s unexciting, but it was another damn smooth show. What the fuck am I even supposed to write about at this point? Ooh, yay, another smooth day on tour. How fucking exciting. Then we went to Atlanta.
This has been a busy, busy tour. The kind of stage wrangling and crafting we’re doing is pushing our limits. And driving all the god damned time has really put a crunch in my writing. But here I am, about half way through tour, speeding through the swampy mess of Florida ready to bath salts and leave a baby in a hot car. This is sure to be TLDR.
Get ready for a long night
We started tour prep back in February, writing up a list of new props to build, things to buy, and songs to learn. Half way through tour, we’re still trying to check off some stuff from that list. Props are being modified, shit is being bought, and songs have actually been learned during sound checks. One of the biggest things we bought was Rosie, the 6×12 trailer that bafflingly is still filled to the brim just like our old, smaller trailer. On the plus side, when it’s empty, it’s become a back stage at a couple venues. Why buy? We had the savings in our personal accounts and we can just sell the damn thing when we get home. Having capital is the only way to increase it.
Becoming an artist is a good way to ensure you’ll never be rich. Becoming a musician is a good way to have no money at all. Even musicians who make a living have legitimate gripes as to how the system is gamed so that everyone around them gets most of the dollar produced by their music. In the underground, that dollar becomes cents and it’s really hard to stretch out a coin. It’s not even made of rubber.
Actually, a bag full of rubbers
So, your band is going on tour? Well, you already should know you had to save up so you can pay your rent for the couch to mom and dad. But you guys just know that this tour will be awesome. People are gonna buy your shit up because you’re playing metal in a way no one else can even comprehend. I know that 21 and up bar in Duluth should pay you a king’s ransom for deigning to gild their evening with your fine musical fare. They won’t. And that’s why you need to know some easy ways to save money on the road.
