Category: Music

The best part of the last week is that there has been so little to write about. After the drama and problems of the previous week, we’ve had a largely smooth ride of it. Like the Bones Brigade, we just been rolling.

We drove all night to Toledo, Ohio and arrived early at Headliner’s. According to Jim, a terrible teevee show, but according to Jim the GWAR truck driver, he was surprised to not see us late. Yipes. Anyway, we took the extra time to get an oil change, an oft forgotten piece of tour maintenance.

Headliner’s was… interesting. It’s a place in flux. So much so that the backstage toilet was installed DURING the show. The load out was a bit chaotic as well. It started raining and our trailer was unhooked because a jack ass parked in front of our unhooked trailet. Who does that? Luckily, someone from the club, or we’d have been figgedity fucked moving the trailer to the load out area like pack of bipedal mules.

Lexington, KY was next and a total surprise at the awesomeness of it all. Not saying I expected anything less, it was just over the top awesome fun with an absolutely mad crowd. We got to hang with our friends in the Hookers and had a smashing time.

Joliet, IL was a bit rough. The entire tour took over the tiny kitchen area for a backstage. The GWAR “castle” had to be downsized to a split level apartment to fit the tiny stage. I played next to the staircase, literally menacing people headed to the mezzanine face-to-face. It was another great night, though, and we got to meet the artist of our album cover, Bill Hauser. Awesome artist and great guy!

On the way to Wisconsin, I picked up a rather important piece of new gear. See, I got sick of hacking up from being a weak addict, so I’m trying out the eCig. So far, it’s helping me cut down and I’m digging it.

One thing I don’t mind be addicted to is Wisconsin cheese. Near the Majestic Theater in Madison I had the second best ever bowl of mac ‘n’ cheese ever. First best? Unicorn in Seattle. Oh yeah, the show was great, too! Fuck, this is boring. Everything is great.

Madison was another nice night when we met our new pals Kristen and Mercedes. Kristen took good care of us and ripped it up as punk rock DJ at her pad and made sure we got fed the next day.

In Des Moines, I got to meet up with my friends Krista and Josh. Krista met Josh at an Impaled show in Des Moines some years ago and they ended up married. Impaled brings love! And G.O.R.E.! The show was great. Again. Sigh.

Next we drove into the night to Tulsa. Muggy, muggy Tulsa. This show was a bit more worrisome, being that it was earlier and I was afraid the tigers wouldn’t even be outta school before we went on. I was wrong. Another great show. Holy shit tards, something best go wrong soon or this journal is gonna be dull as fuck. Well, at least Dave Brockie finally got to meet his hero, Oderus Urungus.

Now we’ve had a day off between Tulsa and Lincoln. We’re in ghettotel and recuperating for more awesomeness to come. And some of us have decided the best way to beat a cold is to galavant about town, drinking until they puke on themselves. You say tomato, I say potato.

If this continues, I may have to just start breaking things for something to do. Time for a relaxing swim in the lovely pool.

First day of the tour, and already things were getting tense within the band. Sometimes aggression just has to be vented, and sometimes that just takes a machete to the head.

Right up to the last minute, we were working on props and running errands all over Richmond. I was pretty disappointed that we didn’t have time to see the Slave Pit. Maybe at the end of tour.

Continue reading “Ghoulection 2012: Transmission One” →

It was a dark and stormy night. Then she rolled in… a grey dame who needed some work. I was gonna ride her like Mitt Romney’s convictions… all over the place.

Thanks to all the kiddies who donated, we got ourselves a van. It was better than ideal… it was available. A ’94 Ford E-350 Club Wagon Van. For that year, the mileage is low, like the point of a career after making “Jack and Jill.”

After purchasing the van in SF, we took it to a shop. It ended up needing more work than the citizens of the state with the currently most unemployed, i.e. Nevada. Our weekend of doing interior work to the van was shot full of more holes than a “suspect” detained by the BART police. We had to begin our work around 7PM, the very night before we were gonna 23 skidoo.

The previous owner had installed a loft and a vintage loveseat. All it was missing was a fixed gear on the roof to really be from San Fran. Sean and I ripped out the loveseat like a pair of divorcees… he took half. We ended up dumping that sofa in Oakland like… like all the other fucking sofas that are dumped around Oakland.

The loft was made well with back doors in the back that locked. It was big, a queen size. The exact dimensions required by one Elizabeth II. Not being beholden to the commonwealth, we cut that fucker down about a foot. We had to fit in a coupla benches so our band of roving troubadours could sleep like a real touring band… homeless.

To bolt down the bench, I thought we’d have to make new holes like a Roman decorating his cross. Sean had the idea to move the mountain to Mohammed, or in modern parlance, move the building to the plane. We’d move the legs of the benches to fit the stock mounting holes in the van. I drilled some holes and used some self-tapping bolts for the job. By Tuesday 1AM, we were more finished than a crappy rock band dressed like monsters winning the Eurovision Song Contest.

5AM and we were on our way. We packed up our shit like a port-a-potty attendant and headed on our way to Richmond, VA. The rain was coming down on us hard and thick, like Peter North after drinking a banana smoothie. I checked my smart phone and the prognosis was bad… blizzards, and not the kind that come with crumbled Oreos. We turned away from our path towards the Sierras and headed towards the Mojave, instead. We wouldn’t be heading through all those weird, NASCAR-lovin’ pro-lifin’ militia-havin’ immigrant-huntin’ guv’ment-hatin’ states, rather we’d be headin through those other weird, NASCAR-lovin’ pro-lifin’ militia-havin’ immigrant-huntin’ guv’ment-hatin’ states. America, truly the melting pot.

And somehow, magically, after a 3,000 miles long drive we’ll be in Antarctica livin with monsters like Kurt Russell in the best horror movie ever made. Disagree? “Yeah, well fuck you, too!” But first, taco night at Jim’s in Richmond. It’s so nice to be back in my jammy pants.

For a list of the tour dates we’re going on with GWAR, Municipal Waste, and Kylesa check out it out here. 

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com

After the show in Calgary, some of the nice kids took us to a motel for a night of much needed rest. Unfortunately, the rest was not coming as 12 or so of them filed onto the room we got. No worries, these Canadian youngins were ever so polite, shushing themselves and comporting quite unlike their American counterparts might have. We had an excellent few hours discussing with them all the things we probably cared about 15-20 years prior to giving up hope on life.

If anything got outta hand, it was probably our fault.

We had the following day off for the long drive to Vancouver. We took it easy, driving during the day to enjoy the majestic view of the Canadian Rockies. I think on the Canadian side, the giants play curling and drink Elsinore beer. Take off, eh, you hosers.

We stopped about four hours outside of Vancouver in the next biggest place, a city called Kamloops. It was colder than a witch’s tit stuck in an icecube. Luckily, we’ve discovered the Canadian economy motels are of a caliber higher than their American cousins. It seems they all have indoor pools and spas. A good amount even have indoor water slides, apparently a strange obsession for these syrup-slurping flapper heads. Voyeur cam:

Snow started coming down in the morning. Tire chain check: check, we don’t have any. Roll out! Not very smart, but this ain’t my van and it didn’t come with chains. I was sure crossed-fingers were about as much assurance a we could get.

Without incident, we entered Vancouver. We were loading out in the loading zone of the club into their loading elevator when some lady-boy bike cop said we were unloading illegally (in the loading zone) and had to move. Whaaaaaaaat? Okay, we’ll move, and Sean grabs the last cab as I’m walking to the front with keys. She-he says, “I don’t appreciate you illegally unloading after I gave you a warning…” as I flash her the keys in my hands. Holy fuck, we all wanted to go 99% on the he-bitch, but dammit, we are acting professional on this tour! Plus we are all cowards who can’t afford a ticket. Canadian bacon sucks.

The show in Vancouver went off fantastically. We got to see our drummer friends Hesher from Mass Grave and Jay from Golers. Our new bud Germ from the GWAR production crew went on stage in our monkey suit and proved to be quite the perfomer as he battled a robot and air guitared a might club. This is the most awesomely nice guy on this tour.

The next day we headed towards Seattle and one uppity border guard wanted to see our “carnet,” aka a “merchandise passport.” That’s the sheet that I’d drawn up with our gear list on it that no guard going INTO Canada asked to see or stamp. According to this guard, it was our job to ask and make them do their job. Kinda like when you have to stop the post man when he’s dumping mail in the street and remind him it goes in the box in front of your house. We just played dumb and annoying, she got frustrated and waved us on. God damn bacon. We were back in the land of freedom (from healthcare)!

Into Seattle, and the first of our last shows. Sad whale song! At least we had a cool place to park.

Warbeast, featuring our friend Bruce of Rigor Mortis fame, began their leg as the openers for the second half of the GWAR tour here.

We added to the bill later and went on first of four sans pay. It was well worth it for us, as setting up shows opposite GWAR on our way home would’ve been stupid. Our only crisis was a cracked kick drum head and missing the runner by about one minute. I headed to go get one and discovered if you wanna get anywhere quick in a city, DON’T take 5th Avenue.

We still got on stage in time and had one of our best, most trouble free shows. Kogar the Destructor managed to make it into the crowd and bop all the people selling merch, Kevin, Brad, and Nicole, on their heads. Warbeast was also amazing. GWAR was loads of fun, as I sat in the back with Ryan from Engorged singing all the lyrics to Crack in the Egg, Salamanizer, and more. I think Ryan had a better handle on it than Oderus.

Our party split up a bit as some headed to PDX, some to another house, and some to Capitol Hill where I got to meet up with my lady fair and some other fine friends at Unicorn, probably my favorite bar in Seattle with the most kickin’ mac & cheese in the world. After a nights rest at Vince from Anhedonist’s pad we rolled on to PDX and met back up at the Roseland Theater. It was time for the final confrontation.

Portland was a super fun show for us, with the crowd going apeshit and the ape-thing going apeshit on a robot, and just general mayhem. At one point during a bit where I complain about being hungry, Andy from ETID brought us all sandwiches.

I was laughing as we threw them all around and into the crowd. My so-far trusty V4-B amp died somewhere in the middle of the show. My Sansamp didn’t, though. I’m not looking forward to repair costs, ah well. Warbeast and ETID likewise had great sets. PDX is always kind to our lot.

GWAR had asked us to help them on stage later and kill the World Maggot. We were super excited. When they hit the stage, Oderus was… not Oderus. His energy was low, something was up. In fact, GWAR was cancelling the next two shows for the wake of Cory Smoot, aka Flattus Maximus. This had to hang heavy over the scumdogs.

We waited backstage in costume at the appointed hour. We watched GWAR during the last song of their main set. Oderus began to shed his skin and there appeared Dave Brockie. He leapt into the crowd as the song ended. What the fuck? Sean and I were in shock. Dave came around to the backstage, grabbed a mic, and jumped back up. With all due emotion, he brought back and introduced the members of GWAR to the stage sans scumdog uniforms. Mike was walking around with goat legs. Jameson was without a helmet. Brad was on drums. Bob, Matt and Scott were the stagehands.

Holy fuck. I didn’t want to go out onstage. This was their moment. This was catharsis. Bob told us backstage, “fuck it, we are still doing what we planned.” Ooookay. I was still hesitant until I saw Dave point at us and say, “Ghoul, get the fuck out here!” I headed onto stage while Maggots played, and the crowd cheered. Either Bob or Matt grabbed me and started me towards the World Maggot. I, like Jerry Springer and hundreds of slutty broads before me, was going to be lunch. I got fed to the Maggot and reborn into the hands of Germ on the other side, as he screamed, “fuck yeah, Ross, come on!” Oh man. I was in a daze. Dan, Dino, and Sean were busy chopping off the head of the maggot while I went downstairs to change.

I headed back up as Sick of You was playing and saw our robot, aka Scott Bryan, and our monkey-man, aka Peter Povey fighting on stage with GWAR and the slaves as the Biledriver squirted the crowd. At some point, Dave brought out Cory’s guitar and held it for the crowd to revere. I couldn’t contain myself, and jumped next to Beef, aka Jameson, and launched into the last chorus of Sick of You. I got a Biledriver to my backside from Bob. I left the stage watching robots, monsters, and slaves hugging. What the fuck.

Tour was over. Lots of hugging all around and a few beers over at Ground Kontrol. A lost DDR tournament. Basically, a blur. Like this whole tour.

It’s the biggest tour I’ve ever been on, with monumental highs and the most catastrophic downs. Totally indescribable. GWAR has always been one of my all time favorite bands, digesting their music, lyrics and movies, seeing them on every tour since my first on This Toilet Earth… this was the most amazing opportunity. I didn’t wanna see my heroes go through something like the loss they felt on this tour, but it’s heartening to see them pull through it.

Thanks, guys, I wouldn’t be doing what I do without you.

(drawing from a fan hanging in the GWAR tour bus)

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
filling in at the Creepsylvania Hospital’s traveling burn ward

Minneapolis… we’re gonna make it after all!

We were going to play First Avenue. This is a very famous club, probably known to most as the club from Purple Rain. Imbued with the spirit of the Morris Day and the Time, the zeitgusto if you will, I got Scott on stage with me for a little dance.

Jealous, ladies?

During sound check, we had a recurring problem come up yet again. We had another S.T.D. (sound tech douche). We had the same problem in the House of Blues in Cleveland. We’ve got a dead-easy set up… Downstage vocals, one bass, two guitar, and a five-piece drum kit. That’s as basic rock and roll as it gets. The one real variable is this:

That is a well-bloodied Elektro-Harmonix V256 vocoder pedal. It’s a newer product we needed. As far as I can tell, it’s the only genuine vocoder pedal around, has presets, and allows us to finally give voice to our onstage robot. It’s so new, these S.T.D.s absolutely scoff and treat us like some n00b children as soon as we mention it. They love to add how long they’ve been doing sound, too, as if the show tonight is our first time on stage. Douches.

The V256 runs a low impedance, balanced output like any vocal effect. It happens to be in pedal form. The thing is, it also adds some gain to the output whether in effect mode or bypassed. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t affect the sound. Sean always politely let’s the S.T.D. know the issue about gain before he checks the mic, because it can feedback pretty gnarly if the mixing board starts with the mic on high gain. Some, as soon as they hear “pedal,” scoff at us like we’ve just told them we slept with their ex-girlfriend. We have to take it and be polite, because they can munch our sound for the whole evening if they’re dicks.

This is my P.S.A. to S.T.D.s everywhere: the EHX V256 pedal exists. It’s a vocal effect for microphone, not a repurposed guitar effect. It’s a balanced line out, low impedance, XLR hook up. For some reason, it adds gain, but it’s worth the two seconds of turning a single knob down for the vocoding effect. Thanks.

Also, our drummer DOES need power for his fan. Sure, we have a short set, but we are also playing in costumes that cover our breathe hole. If your fat S.T.D. ass wants to sit on the kit and play thrash and blast beats in a mask for 30 minutes without a fan to prove us a wrong, go ahead. I guess we can use our line-check for that instead of arguing the need for a single extension cord.

And then we had an absolutely ripping set in Minneapolis. Dino’s old bandmate Todd came out, even, and got to experience his first GWAR show.

We had a plan to start the next drive right after the show. It’s nominally 21.5 hours to Edmonton, Alberta, not including breaks. We wanted to get a head start so we could recuperate in a hotel the night before the show. I slept in the van during GWAR to prep for a long night drive and sadly missed them. As events turned out, very sadly.

The next day, tragedy struck the GWAR camp. Words cannot describe our feelings on getting the news, so I’ll not even attempt to try. The sad event of Cory “Flattus Maximus” Smoot’s passing is well documented elsewhere.

We spent the evening in a daze, but were told the tour would continue. Amazing. Nothing stops GWAR: not Cardinal Syn, not Corporal Punishment, not Granbo, and not even Death himself.

We got into Edmonton, and it was emotional. Lots of unfocused sadness and rage. But professionalism had to reign and the show had to go on. It couldn’t have been a better place as the venue was raging with rabid tigers. Everyone had fire inside, none more than the scumdogs bereft of a brother. Oderus brought it: he played it fun and played it sad. I mean, I can honestly say I’ve never been more choked up watching a space monster ask for a moment of silence while he peed on people’s faces.

I don’t think it’s gonna get easier. It’s rough, but shit’s gotta keep going.

Unrelated to tragedy, the Edmonton Events Center is located in the most insanely huge mall I’ve ever seen. Same crap shops, plus rolly coasters, a water park, ice rink, haunted house, pirate ship, submarine ride… Ah fuck, let’s get to the pix:

It was like a vacation land with a convenient Spencer’s Gifts nearby if you needed some fart spray. The next day, we headed to Calgary, kinda. The Canadians apparently hate coherent signs on the freeway. It took us 45 minutes just to get outta Edmonton! I guess that’s our fault for having a GPS from 1986, aka an atlas. After getting lost, we finally made our way to a hall on a college campus. Can’t any Canadian venue just be in a normal place?

The show went off nicely and the tigers continue to support the brothers of GWAR in their time of grief. The blood still flows, the scumdogs slay, and GWAR still rules. We’ll just continue to do our best to support.

Doktor Ross Sewage
www.doktorsewage.com
filling in at the Creepsylvania Hospital’s traveling burn ward

Fuck.

(sketchbook, 2004)

R.I.P. Cory Smoot 1977-2011

And the wheels keep rolling…

(update on the one year anniversary of Cory’s passing, November 3, 2012: contributions to the Smoot family fund can be made at http://www.metalblade.com/smootfamilyfund/)

Location:King St,Emerson,Canada