Adventure #68: Kalamazoo, Michigan

If there's been a theme for this tour it's been narrowly averted disaster. On Monday I got an e-mail from the place I was supposed to play in Kalamazoo saying the show was off. The bill fell apart and there wasn't anything they could do. That growing feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. But they'd try to find something else for me in town. Hollow promise, I'm sure. Well, within about half an hour I got a message. “We found you a show at this place Louie's Trophy Room. It's all set up. Here's who to get in touch with.” People like that are rare. I'm a firm believer that what matters isn't whether you screw up or not, but how you fix it when you do. So in that respect, Ian from The Black Lodge is beyond reproach as far as I'm concerned. This is Pen Pen conquering the Arctic of Michigan.

So all things considered, it was a pretty great night. All the acts were awesome, and just genuinely nice folks. Spent the night hanging out and joking around with the other bands. I've been fortunate this tour that everywhere I've played for the first time people have really made me feel at home. There are some shows you play and at the end of the night, save maybe a little cash from the door, you can't help but wonder if it would have made any difference if you hadn't played that night. I haven't had any of those this time around. Pretty much every show has ended meeting new bands and new friends that I hope to see again. I crashed out at this guy Patrick's place outside Kalamazoo. We stayed up till 3 watching Pete and Pete and discussing the finer points of Polaris' music. Conclusion: Polaris is awesome and I want a Petunia tattoo now. This is Pen Pen becoming friends with a bison.

This is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share with your friends.

Adventure #67: Indianapolis, Indiana

Over the past 2 years of solo touring, Indianapolis has emerged as my favorite city to play. My friends there are some of the best people I know. I don't tour to make money, though (fingers crossed) I've never not at least broken even on a tour. I don't tour to “make it” because that's a stupid phrase and means nothing. I tour to meet new people. I tour to visit old friends that I don't see nearly often enough. I tour for late night conversations with total strangers about the state of the world. And I tour because there is literally nothing in the world that beats hearing a new crowd of people sing your songs back to you every night. This is Pen Pen wondering if it'd be weird to get a Piradical tattoo.

So I woke up still snowed in at the Lemp Neighborhood Arts Center in St. Louis. Mark, the guy who runs the center, came down to say hi while I waited for the snow plows to maybe consider clearing the roads (if they felt like it...). An epic conversation about activism, art, DIY, racism / gentrification, experimental music, the legacy of occupy, and basically everything else that matters erupted over coffee. Not to put too fine a point on it (say I'm the only bee in your bonnet) but the contrast between my experience in Conway and St. Louis couldn't have been starker. Both shows were canceled largely due to weather. But there is no question in my mind about where Mark and LNAC stand on the line between community and commerce. This is Pen Pen debating the difference between anarchism and nihilism with Bushy the Blindsided Bear.

I hit the road and headed off to Indianapolis. I had been looking forward to this show all week. The bands were all great (Roller Toaster = my new favorite band. “We want you to know that we are huge supporters of NASA but we're against monkey rape.” Is maybe the best song introduction ever?). The room was full, and nearly everyone I had been hoping to see was there (Mitch was at a different show. What a jerk. Also Margie decided it was more important to spend time with her newborn son. Some people are so selfish.) The No Direction girls were there, and handed me an early copy of their new CD! I've already listened to it twice because it's punk rawk and like 15 minutes long and awesome. This is Pen Pen fighting the eternal battle between punx and hipsters.

I hope I never get used to hearing a room full of people singing every word to my songs, nearly drowning me out. It's been happening more and more lately, and it's still so surprising and wonderful. The day I take that feeling for granted is the day I need to quit touring. In the morning (OK, afternoon. Late afternoon. Punx need their beauty sleep.) we headed to Teppanyaki Chinese Buffet for Scotty's birthday. It was terrible. It was glorious. Every time I come to Indy and spend time with my Pirad friends, it gets harder and harder to leave. Someday I might just stay. This is a bunny made out of lemons and a giant muppet.

This is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share with your friends.

Adventure #66: Conway, Arkansas

DIY is more than a sound or a fashion sense. It's more than a shared legacy of bands we like. At it's heart it's always been a set of values. I've turned down some offers and walked away from opportunities that could have made me a hell of a lot more “successful” than I currently am because they violated these values in some way. But to me (and my rambling quixotic career is a testament) the true measure of success is not the number of records sold or the size of my guarantee. I have my eyes set on something bigger. Success is helping to build an international community of artists, activists, and fans that perpetuates the values of self-reliance, community, sustainability, co-operation, and free artistic expression. And in this world, the all-ages DIY venue is our temple.

So I showed up in Conway, Arkansas after a 7 hour drive to play a show at the all-ages DIY venue in town. I played there once before, and though the show last time had been a smashing failure, a few of the folks I met told me to come back and they'd set up a real show. Tanner put together the bill, and when I got in I had a message from him saying that apparently the weather was real bad up north, and he wasn't sure how many folks would come out, but the show was still on. So I headed into the venue and got set up. It was empty save two guys who were playing, the owner, and his friends. I waited for folks to show up. And waited. By the time other people started trickling in I overheard the owner complaining about the show. Complaining that he was going to lose money. Complaining about how the bands failed to promote the show tonight, while bragging about his prowess and expertise at promotion. “You're from out of town, so I don't mean you.” He said to me, overhearing. “But the local bands are responsible for bringing people out. If no-one else shows up we're going to pull it.”

I've been on every side of that microphone. I've managed venues, managed bands, live engineered, recorded, produced, done promotion, written and published reviews and interviews. Hell I've even (ineptly) shot video and done artwork for bands. Here's the thing: although DIY stands for “do it yourself,” the actual ethos of the community are more like “do it together.” Everyone. Every single person in that room was responsible for bringing people out. And we all failed. Myself included. Up to and including the folks who run the venue. (fun fact: if your room is empty, that pretty well invalidates your claim to be a great promoter.)

I'm not so naïve to deny that money matters in the scene. As much as I do try to practice alternatives to capitalism in my daily life, the guy at the gas station isn't going to just give me 12 gallons of 87 in the spirit of mutual aid. (Carson, if you're reading, I'm sure your analysis that my hatred of money as a means of exchange is a luxury born from a sense of privilege having been raised in an affluent community will be both cutting and insightful. I can't wait to read it.) I'm not so naïve as to advocate that the venue should have lost money on the night. Frankly, he made the right call by canceling the show. But the all-ages DIY venue is more than a bar. It's more than a road-house where at the end of the day all that matters is the take from the door.

The all-ages DIY venue is a community hub first and foremost. It offers nothing else. No beer. No coffee. It just offers music and a place for outsiders to feel like they belong somewhere. It's a listening room for anarchists and outcasts. Finances should be taken into account, sure. If little green pieces of paper don't change hands over the evening, we're all going to have a tough time of things pretty quickly. As much as I would like to make my living singing my little songs in your space, I would like you to make your living running that space. These things are a lot of work and until we can work out a sustainable alternative to capitalism, we all gotta get paid for our time. But the second you place finances above community building, is the second you're running the wrong kind of venue. Open a coffee shop. Open a bar. The all-ages DIY venue is more than a stage and a microphone. It is a sacred place for people who lack sacred places. So inconvenient as it may be, your obligation to the community is higher than the owner of the local dive. You have an obligation to community-building. You have an obligation to not be a jerk. You may not want the responsibility, but by running an all-ages DIY space, you are a leader in your community. And the preacher does not talk trash about their congregation. We play unpopular music in run-down venues with terrible sound to far too few people because we can't bear the selfishness, competitiveness, and pettiness of the mainstream music scene. So don't make us need an alternative to the alternative. If we keep digging new undergrounds eventually we'll hit the magnetic core.

So I'm not pissed that with 3 paying audience members, they pulled the plug on the show. That was an understandable call. I obviously wish he hadn't done it, but I understand why he felt he had to. I'm pissed at how it was done. There was no conversation with the bands. We only figured out the show was off because in the middle of a conversation with Tanner, I looked up and noticed that the sound guy was literally pulling the plug and packing up the microphones. The owner never said a word. The formality of hollow apology followed by some vague promise that if I come back next time it'll be better actually counts for a bit. I know he doesn't mean it. And he knows I'm not coming back. But it communicates to the performers, and it communicates to the fans (all 3 of them) that although he had to pull the plug for financial reasons, his relationship with the community is still first in his mind. A discussion. An explanation. An apology. Nothing.

He lost money on the show, but so did I. We all got screwed. By pulling the plug on the show without so much as a word, he showed that the community this venue supposedly acts as a hub for matters less than the money he stands to make off of them. By creating an adversarial and disrespectful relationship with the performers and with the audience, he showed that though he profits off of this community, he is not a part of it. So to borrow from the language of every parent everywhere: I'm not pissed at the venue; I'm disappointed in them.

Tanner (who is one of the world's few good people) did his best to make it right. He paid the venue out of pocket what they said they lost on the night. He paid me what I lost too in gas. He ordered some pizza and brought the show over to a friend's house. We turned it into a songwriter's circle. Each act taking turns on a song. A handful more people showed up. Enough to feel like a full room. Enough to feel like a community for the night. It was maybe not the show I had expected, but it ended up being a pretty solid night. So the spirit of community-building and independence was in full display last night in Conway, Arkansas. It just wasn't in the place where one would traditionally expect to see it. The all-ages DIY venue in town was dark. But the spirit of DIY; the values that I and so many artists have sacrificed so much to help propagate over the years is alive and well.

This is Pen Pen never falling down.

This is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share it with your friends.

Adventure #65: Hattiesburg, Mississippi

Here's what my days look like on tour:

• 3 hours of writing
• 6 hours of driving
• 2 hours of adventuring
• 1 hour of setting up for the show
• 1 hour of sitting around the venue and waiting pretending not to be an awkward turtle
• 3 hours of playing the show
• 1 hour of packing up
• 3 hours of drinking with my new friends

The remaining 5 hours get divided between food and sleep as physical needs dictate. Seeing as I'd shortsightedly stolen two extra hours the night before for additional drinking and sleep, I found myself having to cut out adventuring entirely. But time zones! Oh time zones! I could keep track of these things and remember where they go, but I prefer to think of that extra hour as a bonus given to me by the earth's rotation. Solipsism: I make the world go round. Suddenly I found myself in Alabama with an unexpected extra hour, so I did what I always do and looked for a brown sign indicating something interesting. Around Tuscaloosa I passed a sign for a state park. Hiking it is today! This is Pen Pen not caring that he could use this extra time to get caught up with more writing projects (right).

Unlike South Carolina, there was no snow. Barely any indication of winter beyond the light chill and empty gazebos and picnic benches. Or maybe that's just how Alabama winters roll. I walked through the woods along a placid lake to a small beach front where broken signs and empty bottles betrayed the neglect of winter. You know the first time you see the docks in the village in Lost? It was like that basically but with less unexplained polar bears and confusing time travel plot holes. This is Pen Pen pretty sure the smoke monster destroyed the sign though.

I got to the venue around 9 and it was dead. Deadly dead. Fairly confident that my unprecedented string of good shows was about to come to an end, I puttered around for a bit. Should we just call it a night? “Let's wait a bit,” Heath, the owner said. “I've got some folks coming down soon.” Slowly the bar filled up. Not bad for a Tuesday in Hattiesburg Mississippi. As I pulled out a harmonica, this girl Leigh shouted out “Do you know Piano Man? I just learned the harmonica part!” Sure. Why not? So she stepped up and joined me for it. I can never remember the words. Neither did she. It was great. After the show, pretty much the whole crowd ended up at Amanda's house (her roommates were not pleased). We stayed up til 5 (which is really 6) singing and generally pissing off Amanda's roommates. Can't wait to come back to Haittiesburg. This is starting to become a trend. Looks like June will be a busy month. This is Pen Pen standing on top of a mountain not changing position for like 10 episodes while basically nothing else ever happens.

This is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share with your friends.

Adventure #64: Carrollton, GA

I had designs to meet up with the guys in Baby Baby while I was in Carrollton to do an interview for Afropunk, but when I got up I still hadn't heard from them. I puttered around Johnson City for a bit killing time (these are the rare moments when I do wish I could check e-mail on my phone from the road...). Made an angsty mix, because putting literal distance between yourself and stuff you don't want to deal with and shouting along to Frightened Rabbit in the car is how real grown-ups deal with problems. Finally gave up and hit the road (singing along to Frightened Rabbit, natch), now with a bit of extra time for an adventure. Driving through South Carolina I passed a sign for the Paris Mountain State Park. There was a sign that said hiking. Hiking you say? Sold. I pulled off the highway down a winding local road. Parked the car and set off. This is Pen Pen and the real reason I'm on the road so much.

It was warm like the beginning of New England spring. Evidence of the recent mild winter was everywhere. Dead leaves on the dirty ground. Patches of snow waiting to melt. I always enjoy the weird etiquette hikers follow when they pass each other on the trail. Everyone looks stupid when they're hiking so you don't make eye contact until the absolute last second when one of you has to decide to move over to accommodate another person on the trail. “Afternoon.” Eye contact. “Afternoon.” Look back the trail. Moving on. “Howdy,” “Howsitgoin,” and “Hey” are all acceptable alternatives in the event that it's not the afternoon. This is Pen Pen not seeing his shadow, which I think means winter's over?

I played Alley Cat back in December on my last tour and made a bunch of friends in town. The bar has a real community feel. It's a regular hangout with it's own rituals and traditions. (Crazy hats. Clown noses. Scrabble.) The show was kinda similar to Saturday, where the crowd filtered in and out. Sometimes they were listening. Sometimes they weren't. Sometimes they sang along. Sometimes they didn't. But whatever, I don't think even I could watch me for 3 hours straight, and I'm pretty self-involved. After the show a bunch of us stayed up until 6 AM playing Cards Against Humanity, which is basically Apples to Apples for terrible people. It was awesome. This is Pen Pen with the best bathroom graffiti ever blushing and saying “aw shucks.”

This is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share it with your friends.

Adventure #63: Johnson City, TN

As I pulled into Johnson City, I saw a sign for the Gray Fossil Site and Museum. Never the sort to walk away from dinosaurs, I followed the brown signs to a giant building with a “closed” sign. My insatiable lust for sites of minor regional historical significance unabated, I followed the next brown sign I saw. Rocky Mount Historical Site it promised. Closed again. Are there no tourist attractions open at 3 in the afternoon on a Sunday in Johnson City, Tennessee? Undeterred by the gate across the front and with a few hours to kill, I pulled off and walked it. I had been promised a Rocky Mount, and a Rocky Mount I would have. It turns out Rocky Mount is the site of a former Governor of Tennessee's house? Andrew Jackson mailed a letter there once, a plaque proudly proclaimed. Yet another crucial historical detail missing from Alex Timbers' deeply flawed play. Tisk tisk. As I wandered around the grounds, I felt the eyes of a small cadre of shaggy sheep trailing me. This is not hyperbole. They seemed absolutely captivated by this strange colorful bipedal mammal holding up a small fuzzy bird in one hand and a tiny gray box in the other and followed me at every turn. It would have been creepy with the right underscoring. Instead it was sort of adorable. This is Pen Pen and the only thing to see on a Sunday afternoon in Johnson City apparently.

I played the Acoustic Coffeehouse back in 2010, and keep trying to come back. The folks there are good people. Johnson City's conclave of artists, radicals, eccentrics, and weirdos. My people. The barista Carla asked if she could sit in on mandolin for a few songs. Who am I to say no to a mandolin player? There were no other acts so I ended up playing most of the evening with Carla joining in on the 2^nd half. She killed it. To the point where I'm pretty sure I need a mandolin player in my band. (sadly she turned down my offer to come on tour with me and then move to Brooklyn “blah blah work blah blah I live here...”) It turned into a kind of amazing night. Hopefully it wont be 2 years before I come back. Hopefully May? Way to be awesome, Johnson City. This is Pen Pen sticking it to the man in the least significant possible way.

This is a song I wrote one time. You should download it and share it with your friends.

Adventure #61 and 62: Burtonsville, MD and Blacksburg, VA

Someday I wont be late to the first show of every tour. (Someday I wont be late for most things.) That day is not today. Before hitting the road, I had a production meeting for QueerSpawn, dropped off files for an artist I'm producing, finished making a screen for T-shirts for a climate change protest in DC, and stopped by the Afropunk office. So I see being only half an hour late as a significant accomplishment. Do all the things! This is Pen Pen making T-shirts.

Why are you making T-shirts for a song that you recorded 4 years ago and has already appeared on 2 albums you're probably not asking? Because those 2 albums are almost out of print, but I still play the song a lot, and I don't feel like pressing up new copies for one song. So I'm making a new EP. Also the winter of my discontent has left me with a glut of new songs that need a home. Oh right. The show. The show at Chapala was pretty rad. Lilly and Javier showed up which is always a good time. And despite the whiplash inducing bill (Folk-punk! Garage rock! Dubstep! More garage rock! Nerdcore!), the other bands were awesome. Especially Black Checker and Hip-hop Mcdougal (who win my eternal love and affection for working a Bartleby the Scrivener reference into one of their songs). This is Pen Pen being mauled by a cat.

The drive through the snow and sleet didn't leave much time for adventuring on the way to Blacksburg. I made it down to 622 North just in time to load in and scarf down the best damn gorgonzola pizza south of the Mason Dixon. Long bar shows can be tough. You get paid. You get treated well. But you always know you're background music. So you try to pepper it with enough covers to get people's attention and hope you can hold it through a few originals. I'm long past the days when I'd take any of that personally though. I'm cool with you not paying any attention to “Family of Ghosts” if you dig my cover of “Billie Jean.” I'm not here to make aht, I'm here because performing for people is the best thing in the world. But the bar was busy and there were some folks who stuck around all night, so we all had a good time. I crashed with this guy Robbie (and his giant dog) who I bonded with over our shared affection for old Deep Elm bands. (I don't care what you say. The Emo Diaries are still intermittently amazing.) Also Less Than Jake. This is Pen Pen apparently disproving that no one listens to ska anymore (The raver. Too ridiculous to ever describe.)

This is a song I wrote this one time. You should download it and share with your friends.