Adventure #103: Existential Angst

It was a little under 4 years ago that I sat in the back of a darkened theatre setting up mics for a less-than-impressive musical revue and thought “why aren't I performing? Didn't I always say I was going to be a performer?” That night I started booking my first tour. I had no contacts, and no idea what I was doing. I accidentally booked a 14 hour drive between venues at one point. I not-so-accidentally booked more than one 10 hour drive. Despite having played in bands and recording solo albums since I was 15, I had only actually performed solo a handful of times. I was terrified and clueless.

“When I left my home and my family, I was no more than a boy. In the company of strangers, in the quiet of the railway station running scared.”

I doubt most 26 year olds think of themselves as children, but in hindsight, that's what I was. I knew nothing. I hadn't experienced much in life. Certainly not much bad. I had never heard the terms “pneumothorax” or “bleb.” I had no idea of the dozens of little time bombs waiting in my chest for a little physical stress or the comforting embrace of the NYPD to go off. I also had no idea how much a 2 week trip around the Midwest might change my life. When I left, I was a Sound Designer who played music and wrote sometimes. When I came back, I was a Musician and a Writer who did sound design to sustain himself and for fun sometimes. The designation was important.

I had just spent 5 years of my life going all in on an identity. I worked on some 200 plays. I ratcheted up residencies. At one point, I designed the sound for every single play in the BCA Plaza space for a year in addition to a majority in their other spaces. I'd worked Off Broadway and in major regional theatres. For a 26 year old, I was about as successful as one could be as a theatre designer. But I wasn't happy. I was stressed and anxious. I was tired and frustrated. I had invested all my time and energy on a career that had never been my goal. It just sort of fell into place. I had never really had it in me to give being a musician and a writer a go.

It took me 2 years to figure out how to perform. To figure out how to let an apathetic crowd roll off your back, and how to put your entire heart and soul into every note, even when you've sung them more times than you can count. It took me another 2 years to figure out how to book and plan a tour. And that's not to say I'm an expert at any of those things. Just that I'm less terrified and clueless than I was. It's fitting though that the only two songs from that era that I still play are “Let's Get Lost” and “The Glamorous Life.” One is longing for adventure, the other is bemoaning all the bullshit that comes with it and wishing for a decent night's sleep. Those twin poles of wanderlust and stability continue to be the forces that draw and quarter me.

It's fitting also that I began that first tour with all my possessions in a storage locker and no real sense of what would happen next when I got back. 4 years later, and still in a moment of indecision, the best thing I can think to do is go look for answers on the Eisenhower Interstate System.

This is Pen Pen going somewhere he probably shouldn't to see what's on the other side.

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

Adventure #101: Philadelphia, PA and Wilmington, DE

I'm continually amazed by the transformative powers of music. I can spend an entire morning driving in a terminally pissy mood; tired, sore, frustrated, homesick, and then suddenly a radio station in West Virginia plays Living Colour's “Cult of Personality.” By the end of the intro I'm a person again. By the end of the first verse I'm singing along at top volume. By the end of the first chorus I'm re-energized and invincible. This is Pen Pen, future cult of personality.

I was undecided about Philly at first. The last show I'd played there was disappointing at best. Plus I lost a mic stand at it. Bah! Driving around in search of a coffee shop to finish some work, I ended up on a street so covered with cherry blossoms that it was slippery. Philly's not so bad. The show that night was actually pretty solid. It was a small crowd, but warm. Everyone there was participating, shouting out random covers, singing along. Interrupting my rambling stories with their own. Though many of us were strangers at the beginning of the night, the power of a Tom Petty singalong and a poorly executed impromptu Queen cover transformed us into friends. Fun fact: Queen sounds dumb on an acoustic guitar. Todd from the Susan Drangle House showed up. In all my years of touring, exactly twice has someone I've approached about a show said “we can't do it, but let me know if you get a show and I'll come check it out and you can crash with us!” It was seriously humbling. Maybe it doesn't sound like much to people who don't tour a lot, but it meant a lot to me. This is Pen Pen warming up to this whole Philadelphia thing.

Delaware, on the other hand, I had no preconceptions about. I've never gotten out of my car in Delaware. Sure I've driven through a bunch of times, but always on the way to somewhere else. It turns out Delaware is pretty great—or at least Wilmington is. I ended up talking to a store owner for almost an hour (his son discovered Norah Jones, apparently!) before one of the other patrons started telling me all the places I should play next time I'm in town. When I got to Mojo13 it was totally empty. “I'm the featured artist tonight. I was told to show up around 7:30.” I explained to blank stares. By 9, a few folks had started to trickle in. By the time the music started, this group of strangers and acquaintances had become friends. I finished my set backed up on congas by a bassist who had snubbed me earlier in the evening and against whom I had nursed a foolish but short-lived grudge. I don't really understand how playing music together can turn people into friends without a single word passing between them. I don't understand how the right song coming on the radio at the right time can transform you from a cranky tortoise into a real live human person. And I guess I hope I never do. Magic tricks are diminished when you know their secrets. The world needs all the magic it can get. This is Pen Pen crossing the Delaware.

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

Adventure #100: Belchertown, MA and New York, NY

I'm not a superstitious person. I don't think that the position of the stars when you're born have anything to do with who you are as a person. My quasi-observant Jew-hood has more to do with respect for tradition and the comfort and sense of place I find in ancient customs than any faith in a divine whatever. But I do believe in the serendipity of the radio. As I pulled out of the house in Brewster, the radio was playing Tupac – Changes. I took it as a sign from the tree peeper I befriended the other day and named Treefrog Shakur (my childhood pet frog was named Biggie. I'm a fan of themed names...) that this was going to be a good tour. This is Treefrog Shakur being fucking adorable.

The last few months in Brewster with Marisa and Jack have been probably the longest period in my adult life that I've gone without either having to pack my suitcase and leave the state for a project or suffering some terrifying medical crisis. It's been a period of some stress and upheaval, sure, but also one of relative stability. Daily routines and habits. My life has changed in such huge ways since my last tour. Suddenly I'm part of a family. I'm charged with being an example for an impressionable tiny person. I don't really know what I'm doing, but I'm trying my damndest to do it well. This is the first time leaving for tour hasn't been a relief. This is the first time I've ever been homesick on the drive to my first show. And I have a beard. I should have led with that. I have a beard now. I'm undecided about it. This is Pen Pen with a beard.

I got to the venue and discovered that my tiny trusty netbook had finally kicked the bucket. So much for good omens. Treefrog Shakur works in mysterious ways. But seeing as my good laptop was dead for 24 hours earlier in the week before inexplicably rising again like the hologram of a beloved performer, I'm not worried. Plus, there's not really anything I can do about it from the road. The show was a lot of fun, and I guess was only the second show they've done in their space. I haven't performed a full set in a while. And I've never performed with a beard. The crowd indulged me as I fumbled my way through a few new songs. I'm hoping to test out a lot of the material for my new album on the road before I finish recording it. So far, so beardy. This is Pen Pen: Time Detective.

My Brooklyn show was canceled last week after the space got noise complaints, and I decided that instead of scrambling to find a half-assed show that I wouldn't have time to promote, I'd just spend time with my friends. Besides, I had a few meetings and rehearsals that I needed to make. I'd hoped to make it to New York in time for court support for Cecily McMillan, but traffic rules us all (radio update: Looking Glass – Brandy, and Notorious BIG – Mo Money Mo Problems). I didn't know Cecily McMillan well. As far as I can recall we'd only ever really spoken once. But I witnessed her assault on March 17^th 2012, just moments after I'd been beaten myself by the NYPD. I pulled into the city just in time for the guilty verdict to be announced. How any twelve members of the human race could find her guilty is beyond me. The Puppet Guild met in Zuccotti instead of our usual Monday in the Secret Puppet Lair. I showed up and was immediately put to work making signs and cards. It was wonderful to see so many people in the park. It's been far too long since I've sat in Zuccotti Park with a Sharpie mass producing signs for a demonstration. The crowd was lively, mostly respectful, and tried their best to be constructive. An assembly was held in which we brainstormed ways to continue to support Cecily and hopefully influence her sentencing. We all laughed as we dusted off the old OWS process. Do we need to mic check? There's only like a hundred and twenty people here. I don't miss New York. I've been gone for 3 months, and I don't really miss it. I miss my family far more after just a day apart. But I do miss this stupid awful park and the amazing conversations it inspires. This is Pen Pen demanding #Justice4Cecily.

This isn't a song I wrote. This is the greatest song in the history of music.

Adventure #99: Jackson, MI

The big problem with Superman as a character is that he's basically perfect. The only way to create any dramatic tension whatsoever is to incapacitate him in some way; hence the proliferation of every possible kind of Kryptonite magically showing up all the time on Earth, despite the general improbability of any showing up here due to the size of the universe, let alone so many chunks. I like a fair fight. Maybe that's why I'm such a sucker for those places where the constant battle between humanity and nature actually feels matched. Abandoned buildings are the manifestation of nature coming up from behind. Bridges and tunnels those places where we've conquered nature but only just barely. One massive storm and nature could still win this one. So after a few days in the ruins of former industrial centers, I needed a little nature. This is Mario and a bridge (not pictured: Birdo.)

About 20 minutes south of Flint, maybe an hour east of Jackson, I came across a state park. Trees. Lakes. Hiking. This would probably be my last chance to experience nature until the spring (or at least until I tour the South again...). This is Mario taking only pictures, leaving only footprints, and the discarded turtle shells of a million Koopas (truly, Mario is history's greatest monster.)

It was overcast as all hell, and a little chilly (still no jacket), but the 2 hour hike around the lake did my soul (and probably lungs) good. I sat for a minute on the edge of the lake reading William Gibson; maybe the least pastoral possible reading choice, but whatever; books don't just grow on trees. The paper does. But. Then industry happens. Anyway. By the time I got to Bird Alley, it was dark. Anthony and I sat around watching terrible 80's movies on VHS while we waited for the other acts to show up. Foragers for the discarded remains of our own culture. Are we America's termites or it's vultures? This is Mario and the last display of breathtaking natural beauty for a little while.

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

Adventure #98: Detroit, MI

In the 2 months since I last visited Detroit, a book has started to take shape in my brain. A collection of interviews, old articles, photos, song lyrics, and letters documenting the stories from the neighborhoods that are vanishing. Primary sources presented with little commentary. Detroit is in a period of change. What it's changing into is up to debate, but as the warehouses and factories and houses continue to be razed one by one, the history of it's neighborhoods threaten to be buried over in grass themselves. This is Mario posing for a very sad, yet optimistic postcard.

I headed out from Justin's a little later than I'd hoped. Drinking till 4 am will do that to you. Who knew? I went down to the neighborhood on the east side that I'd explored last time. 2 short months had already taken their toll. One of the houses I'd come across—an experiment in off-the-grid sustainable living it seemed—had it's garden overgrown; it's rain collection cisterns gone. Was this a failed experiment or merely preparation for the winter? This is Mario and the ravages of time and neglect.

The air felt like winter had come early as I wandered around. A woman came up to me. “I'm 5 months pregnant, and just need to get something to eat. Do you have a dollar?” “Sure,” I said. “Can I interview you in exchange for 5?” We talked for a few minutes. I realized that if this is really for a book, I'm going to need legal releases and all that stuff. But I was utterly unprepared for the look of gratitude at being asked to tell her story. As she talked, her face lit up. She was talking about her friends and relatives that had died in fires—started by Detroit police, she said—but she was beaming. I'm realizing I have a lot of prep work to do to make this book happen, but I'm also realizing that it might be more necessary for the interview subjects than it is for me. It's going to be a huge undertaking, and probably will take a year or more, but it's something that I think I have to do. This is Mario and the future of dentistry.

Around 5:30 the sun was starting to set, and it was getting a little too cold to wander around without a jacket. I still don't have a jacket. Don't judge me. As I got in my car to head up to Saginaw, I got a text from Alex. “You still in the D?” I turned around and headed over her house for tea and catching up. “Detroit is the Wild West,” she said. “Anything is possible.” She had just moved back home a few weeks ago from Brooklyn and is determined to be a part of the rebirth of Detroit. Before I hit the road, she loaded me up with a bounty of home made kettle corn and Vernor's ginger ale, which is apparently the Moxie of Detroit. This is Mario feasting on the best Detroit has to offer (other than Alex's hot sauce, of course.)

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

Adventure #97: Wyandotte, MI

A few years ago I called Rosy from the road. In a manifestation of her permanent state of exasperation with me, she declared “I just don't know how to talk to you when you're on tour. It's always either the best night of your life or the worst and I don't know how to talk to you.” And I had no response, because it's true. Driving 6 hours, singing your heart out for an hour, (not to mention the hours of booking, planning, and promoting that go into every single show) and then being greeted with stunning indifference is devastating. But then the opposite-doing all that and seeing people sing along with your songs; connecting on a very real and personal level-there is nothing better. Those are the nights like last night in Wyandotte that remind you why you do this at all. This is Mario doing this at all.

As I stepped up to the mic, The Rockery was suddenly swarmed with a gaggle of ska kids (specifically of the CBJ variety) and I couldn't have been happier. It's funny how after only playing one show together this summer, I've come to consider Mike and Mark and the gang good friends. But this is a world that breeds fast friendships and faster rivalries, I suppose. Then an hour talking with Marc Blur about the different varieties of anarchism and revolutionary politics, interspersed with memories of what Detroit used to be. Then what seemed like an hour, but turned out to be 3 talking art and sincerity with Justin, the manager of the Rockery, and Jon-Mikal of The Idiot Kids. It was a conversation that I think all three of us needed pretty badly. This is Mario talking realness with noted 80's video game icon, E.T.

Touring can be a lot of things to a lot of people. I guess to most it's a way to become successful. But as I continue to get older and continually redefine “success,” the pretensions of being a famous musician have faded away leaving only the joy of being able to share my art with people who wouldn't have otherwise heard it, excitement for adventure, and gratitude for the unexpected and unexpectedly meaningful conversations at 4 AM; long after the bar has closed. As long as I can continue to do that, I will continue to be the most successful damn musician on the planet. This is Mario defining success by having all the pickles in the world!

This is Jawbreaker's tour song because it sums up all the contradictions about as well as anything.

Adventure #96: Rochester, NY

About 30 minutes out of Brooklyn I started going through my mental checklist. Guitars? Check. Newly pressed copies of A Life In Transit? Check. A vintage suitcase full of anti-capitalist zines? Check. Jacket? Uh. Well it's been unseasonably warm. I'll be OK without a jacket. Sleeping bag? Check. Multiple kinds of pickles? Check. Pen Pen? Oh crap. Maybe I should turn around. The jacket was one thing. But going on tour without my travel penguin? We're doomed. But never one to be discouraged by the slings and arrows of outrageous forgetfulness, I remembered that among the many totems of my perpetual travel is a tiny stuffed Mario. I don't remember where he came from. Only that he's been in my backpack at least since January 2008. This is Mario being selected for this journey.

I got to the Meddlesome Lab about an hour after Seth asked me to show up, but the opening act hadn't gotten there yet either, so everything was fine. We are not responsible adults. None of us. In fitting with the game of “One Degree of Greg McKillop” that is my life, Maya, who was doing merch for Wood Spider plays in Speaker for the Dead. Because obviously. It would honestly be weirder if there wasn't someone at the show who didn't play in Speaker. This is Mario and a Gnome who may or may not play in Speaker for the Dead.

The show was a pretty great start to this final leg of my tour. I've been coming to Rochester periodically because there's been this legend of the Great Rochester House Shows. I've never actually experienced one. Usually it's been Mediocre But Well-Intentioned Bug Jar Shows. Seth kept apologizing “usually there's more like 50 people at these things...” I don't know where you'd fit them. Everyone fit that rare spot in the Venn Diagram of both being great musicians and great people, and the reality is as I begin this final stretch of shows before I cross the boundary of Don't Trust Anyone Over 30, it was incredibly encouraging to perform with artists older than me who are still touring, still playing and organizing DIY shows, still staying true to their ideals. Maybe growing up punk is possible. And then, immediately after performing, I got the text from my dad: my sister went into labor, and I have a new niece. Life can be pretty great sometimes. This is Mario with teeth.

This is the theme music to Mario 2. It's 10 hours long and seemed like the appropriate choice.

Adventure #73: Cave City, KY and Indianapolis, IN

9 years ago I spent one of the more memorable summers of my life working at the Berkshire Theatre Festival as the resident sound assistant. I learned a lot through trial-by-fire. Some of it great some of it very very bad. One of the very bad ones was a musical called Floyd Collins about a caver from Kentucky who went looking for a new cave for a tourist attraction, got stuck there, and died. It's 3 hours long and has exactly one memorable melody (in fairness the one bit where he sings with his echo is actually pretty cool). It's maybe the worst play in existence? No. There are worse. But it's definitely the worst play to be regularly produced by regional theatres who really ought to know better. I was headed up through Kentucky and saw a sign for Mammoth Cave. I remembered there being something about Floyd Collins and Mammoth Cave and decided to head off on an adventure in a fit of masochistic nostalgia. This is Pen Pen just glad he isn't being asked to redesign the work of person he's technically assisting at the 11^th hour.

So I headed off the road. The GPS said nothing about Floyd Collins, but I knew he was here. Somewhere. I found Mammoth Cave. But they only had guided tours and A. they cost money and B. I did have to make it up to Indianapolis at some point. So that wasn't happening. Dejected I headed back to the highway. Then I saw the sign. (It opened up my eyes, and I am happy now living without you) A wood pathway off the side of a side road led to an unassuming cave opening. A sign implored you not to leave the pathway. Definitely don't jump the fence. Definitely don't go in the cave. Obviously that wasn't how this was going down. Fortunately I didn't get stuck in the cave for 3 weeks, have a media circus erupt around me, only to die in the cave a few days before being found. But at least 60 years later the grandson of someone actually talented might write a mediocre musical about me? This is Pen Pen singing “Do yo do dee yo” to his echo for 3 hours before stopping anticlimactically.

It's always good to see some friends in Indianapolis. Especially the badass Lents twins. There was cheap booze on a porch. There was a quest for a pineapple. Some 15 punk bands were started. 14 of them broke up by morning. There are worse ways to spend a night. This is Pen Pen polishing off a 12 rack of Old Milwaukee non-alcoholic beer because he's a penguin just like you but he's got better things to do...

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

Adventure #71 and #72: Johnson City and Nashville, TN

The road from Raleigh to Johnson City goes through some of the most beautiful mountains on earth, and as overworked and underslept as I've been I wasn't about to NOT go hiking. Now I had a few parameters: A. I had to actually make it to Johnson City, and B. I had to be somewhere that I could call in to a production meeting at 4. These both seemed like realistic goals when I set out. Suze the GPS with a charming speech impediment (rural juror) found a State Park right on the border, so I pulled off in search of adventure. Or at least trees. Mostly trees. It was around halfway up the gravel road up mountain that I remembered that my front tires are mostly bald, but unlike my Dad they're in dire need of replacing. As the road steepened up to a 45 degree angle I realized that this was probably a bad idea. Could AAA find me on the mountain? Do I know how to change a tire well enough that I could do it myself at a 45 degree angle? But there wasn't exactly room to turn around, and I sure as hell wasn't going to back down the mountain, so upwards! This is Pen Pen going and chasing waterfalls despite Lisa “Left Eye” Lopez's timeless advice to the contrary.

I made it to the top where it suddenly became paved again with tires successfully unpunctured and set off on the trail. The trail had a distinct educational bent to it with little plaques explaining the different types of trees in language a 6 year old could understand. As a permanent 12 year old, I was having none of it and set off on a random path. This seemed like a good idea at the time. Another path off another path off another path and suddenly it occurred to me that I'm in the mountains on the border of North Carolina and Tennessee with no cell phone reception and no-one knows where I am. I don't even know where I am. Most traveling musicians get their kicks by sleeping indiscriminately with anything with legs and ingesting all manners of exciting chemicals. I get my kicks by getting lost on educational mountain trails with a gimpy lung and no ability to call for help. Then I realized it was 3:30 and I still had that production meeting in 30 minutes. This is Pen Pen sticking instead to the rivers and streams that he's used to.

So I turned around, having successfully found 0 waterfalls. I'd been hiking for an hour or so, so getting back to the parking lot (where there was intermittent cell reception) when I had no idea where I was or how to get back seemed like a realistic goal. I knew I'd been going down mostly and sort of leftish, so I turned around and headed upish and leftish again. Next time I'm leaving breadcrumbs. Walking as fast as Chester the gimpy lung would carry me, checking my phone every 30 feet. One bar? Could I just stop here and call in? Nope, back to no bars in a blink. On we go. Despite my navigation techniques being at best “haphazard” around 3:57 I spied the asphalt of the parking lot. Never have I been so happy to see where someone had paved paradise and put up a parking lot. This is Pen Pen pretty sure if you're able to get a horse up this mountain, you should be allowed to take him on the trail. Also, your policy on bikes and horses is duly noted. What's your policy on Jews and Penguins?

The show in Johnson City was fun as always. Karla played with me again, and we made plans to tour together in the fall. I'm really starting to love Johnson City. I'm not sure I could ever live there, but I could definitely spend a few weeks at a stretch. And then I got the e-mail about my show in Nashville: I'd be playing with Tommy “867-5309” Tutone. Because of course. This is Pen Pen standing next to a burned down house with a can full of gas and a handful of matches; still wasn't found out.

So the next day I make it to Nashville amused and unsure of what to expect. I've never played Nashville before. I've never been to Nashville before. And I'm playing a songwriter's showcase. AFTER Tommy Tutone. 8 other performers who ranged from “good” to “daaaaaaaaamn.” I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little intimidated. Tommy gets up. He's playing a borrowed guitar in a bar that holds maybe 50 people at most. In his defense it is pretty well packed to capacity. He plays through a set of new songs. “Are you going to play Jenny?” The host shouts. “You got 200 bucks?” He shoots back. There's that awkward moment when you realize he's serious. Of course he's serious. “867-5309” may not be a “great song” like “Imagine” or something but it is undeniably immortal. He plays it. It's actually pretty great in this truly surreal way. It's rough. A little sloppier than I'd expect. He must have played that song 2,000 times at least. Stray strings hit during the iconic opening lick. Mumbled lyrics. I was expecting impersonal, bored, and apathetic. This was enthrallingly human; surprisingly passionate. This is Pen Pen paying homage to Cursive's 2^nd best album which is disappointingly devoid of songs about random girls' phone-numbers, though it does have “So-So Gigolo” which is similar kind of.

So immediately after Tommy friggin Tutone plays “867-5309” I step up and launch into “The Glamorous Life.” So that's a thing I've done now. Why not? I play my set backed up by the brilliantly be-mustached Trevor Silva on drums and the response was really encouraging. Halfway through the set he comments “so are you like really into the Living End or something? Your songs remind me of them a lot.” Yeah, actually. Though I'd never consider them an influence. But I do own and religiously listen to their records, so sure! I'll take it! Tommy talks to me after the set with some kind words. “You're a great performer.” he says. “It's not country, but there's no category for your personal artistic vision, so I guess it fits here as well as anywhere.” We get to talking a little bit and I begin to realize this is a man who 30 some-odd years ago captured something oddly deep. He's spent the past 30 years trying and trying and failing and failing to bottle lightning twice, and is honestly unsure he ever had it to begin with. “That guy on stage? That's not the same guy talking to you now,” he tells me. “I don't know who that guy is.”

Later on stage after a night of fawning praise from a bunch of musicians young enough to have never lived in a world without “867-5309” he comments “It's weird that you all think I'm some sort of artist.” I'd spent the day laughing a bit at the thought of playing with the “867-5309 guy.” Tommy Tutone isn't the sort of person anyone's a fan of. His song isn't really something you can have an opinion of any more than oxygen. It's a fact of the world. It exists. That's it. As such he's an icon in a weird way. But the idea of Tommy Tutone The One Hit Wonder is very different than the shy awkward white-haired balding guy playing to 50 people on a Wednesday in Nashville. That guy is human, still confused as to where he's been and how he got there. Still trying to get back. But doubtful that he ever can. This is Pen Pen writing a name and number on the wall, thus beginning the cycle anew.

This is a song Tommy Tutone wrote one time. He never wrote anything like it again. But he's still trying to.

Adventure #70: Chapel Hill, NC

With my oil freshly changed (by the nicest guy on the planet pretty much. My New Englandite inner-self is made a touch uncomfortable by Southern hospitality. I can't figure out what their angle is. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? Uh anyway.) I headed off towards Chapel Hill. Halfway down I passed a sign for the Pocahontas State Park. Obviously I had to stop and see what load of horribleness was there. I crossed the Jefferson Davis Highway because of course I did. (someone should probably tell them that having a Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd doesn't cancel out the Jefferson Davis Highway...). This is Pen Pen paying homage to America's founding principles of just sort of being problematic all the time.

It turns out that despite the potentially problematic name, the Pocahontas State Park was a Civilian Conservation Corps project from the 30s and the whole thing exists as an homage to the WPA. So my dreams of being that Northern knowitall judgy person were crushed by my reverence for the WPA. Well played, FDR. Well played indeed... This is Pen Pen paying homage to America's also founding principles of commonwealth, public infrastructure, and guaranteeing a standard of living, you know, socialism.

I got to the venue a little late. Internationalist Books is this radical bookstore that my dear friend Greg McKillop put me in touch with. I really love this network of DIY artists and artspaces and radical meeting places that I'm finding my way through. I've never met so many people who work so hard to help each other for no reason than because they can. I'm realizing more and more that wherever you go, there will always be a handful of positive sincere DIY-minded folks. You just have to look for them. I found them! After the show I headed off to Emma's place for some much needed grilled cheese and catching up. This is Pen Pen changing the world one zine at a time.

This is a song I wrote one time. Actually I didn't write it. I just thought it would be funny to cover. And it was. You should download it and share with your friends.

Adventure #69: Washington DC

Another first day of a tour, another day I'm running hopelessly late. Like the sun rises in the east, so am I late for my first show. I accomplished about 10% of what I'd hoped to get done before hitting the road. Opening QueerSpawn? Check. Finishing mixing “Let's Get Lost EP?” Check. Laundry? Mostly check. Cleaning up after the apartment flooding? Checkish. Oil change? Uh... Buying the materials and packaging the new EP? I mean, there are only so many hours in the day... Stopping by Kyle's house warming? He'll understand... Sending off my latest piece for Afropunk? Well, the thing about that is... Mailing off my contracts for some of my summer gigs? What do you take me for? Dude, being a grown-up is hard. This is Pen Pen packaging the new EP by the side of the road like a professional.

Velvet Lounge is a cool space in DC. I made it down just barely in time. The nice thing about being an acoustic act is that it's not like I need much of a sound check. The show wasn't huge, about 20 folks or so. That's how Sundays go a lot of the time. But they were definitely the right 20 folks. The other acts were great. I feel like I'm finally finding my people n DC. For some reason it's taken a really long time. After the show a few of us hung out at Becka's place (Mary Mary Quite Contrary). We ended staying up until 3 chatting life, the universe, and everything (intersectionality!) over beers and Twix. Anyone who thinks touring is about making money, or getting famous is doing it for the wrong reasons. Touring is about going somewhere you would never have gone otherwise and making art there. It's about meeting people you wouldn't have met otherwise and collaborating with them. I got up unreasonably early and hit the road towards Chapel Hill, finally getting that oil change like a grown-up. I don't know that this will be the most successful tour I've ever had, but after being cooped up writing non-stop without sleep the past month it definitely feels like one of the most necessary. This is Pen Pen being a grown-up and keeping the Hatchback of Notre-Dame from dying.

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

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 #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 #60: Summer Tour 2012 Dallas, Texas

We left Amarillo sad to leave our friends behind, but in good spirits. Then we hit Clarendon, Texas. Friends, I want to tell you about the town of Clarendon, Texas where this happened there. They got three stop signs, two police officers, and one police car. And that police car will not hesitate to pull you over if you fail to notice where the highway goes from 70 to 55 to 35 before immediately shooting back up to 55 then 70 again in the span of half a mile. So I slowed down to 50 but never saw the sign for when it goes down to 35. So $215 later and my unsuccessful pleading turned into a whole lot of unfavorable comparisons to farm animals. Well, one farm animal really. This is Pen Pen getting a great idea for a Sammy Hagar / NWA mash-up.

A cloud of dispirited silence hung over the rest of the drive to Dallas. The silence occasionally punctuated by sentences that start with “and another thing about cops...” But we got to the venue and there was a pretty decent crowd there. Opening Bell Coffee does a songwriter night on Mondays, and the host's daughter was playing a set and had brought a lot of her friends out. She opened and had a killer voice. She told me she was applying to schools in New York for musical theatre with an embarrassed chuckle. “Funny,” I said, “I write musicals in real life.” We got along great after that. Joshua, Holly, me, Pen Pen, Joshua's friend Shannon and Holly's friends Tara and Patty headed to In-N-Out Burger for veggie burgers after the show because Opening Bell is the only coffee shop venue in America that doesn't comp performers food and screw that. My moral compass makes less sense the harder you think about it, so it's best not to think about the fact that I took a stand against pay-to-play at an otherwise nice locally owned business by eating GMO at a chain fast food place... This is Pen Pen feeling slightly less bad when he discovered that In-N-Out employees get a living wage and benefits.

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

Adventure #59: Summer Tour 2012 Amarillo, Texas

I woke up on Saturday in a pile or clothes and boxes in a basement in Albuquerque, after having spent the past day off recording with my friend Tap in his studio. This is the glamorous life. My morning ritual on tour is to double check all the details on that day's show. Mostly this is to figure out what time we need to be there / leave wherever we are. So looking through my e-mails with The 806 in Amarillo I kept noticing a curious thing: the date said September 9th. That's not possible. We're playing in Austin on the 9th. Amarillo is on the 8th. And oh crap. This is Pen Pen wishing we'd slept in a little less and maybe been high on slightly less morphine while booking this tour.

So I did what I do best in times like this: I panicked. Once I'd done that for a little while, I did what I do second best in times like this: I internetted. I started cold calling places in Amarillo that had music and didn't look like they had anything on the schedule. Amarillo's got a pretty big music scene, so thankfully there were a lot of places to play. Steve from Moe Dogs said they didn't have anyone and if we showed up with a PA we could play and they'd give us some free food. This is why I bring a PA on the road. It was about 10 minutes after I hung up the phone, relieved that I realized this was a hot dog joint on Route 66 and odds are good there would be no food I could eat there, and more importantly that they'd not really be that into an effeminate Jewish animal rights activist vegetarian with a bright pink mohawk and his nails painted blue. This is Pen Pen realizing we might be walking off a cliff.

But oh Amarillo, way to prove us wrong about basically everything. Texas has a lot of stereotypes. Most of these are reinforced by former presidents, recent primary presidential candidates and King of the Hill. Amarillo doesn't conform to any of them. My friends Dave and Molly who put us up are really rad bohemians, and even the bikers at Moe Dogs dug our stuff. Sure one of them made a crack about my fingernails, and when one of them asked for an 80's cover I asked if he liked Prince, because I'm really good at reading people. But whatever. We had a pretty great night, and decided we'd rather stay in town and keep our obligation to The 806. This is Pen Pen both being and visiting a Route 66 roadside attraction.

It was strange having a whole day without having to drive anywhere. We've only done that twice on this whole tour. We drove up and down Route 66 looking at some of the roadside attractions and exploring Amarillo. Then got back to Dave and Molly's with some time to actually hang out and spend time with my friends before the show. How novel! The show itself was fun, but small. Sundays. Whatareyougonnado? We made a few new friends and mostly just heckled each other and used it as an opportunity to play songs we haven't really been doing on this tour. It was funtimes. Add Amarillo to my list of places that are always rad. This is Pen Pen and a giant red hot.

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