chrisg's Tour Diary

It never ceases to amaze me how alive New York City is. It's invigorating, even if you can barely talk. I started coming down with a little cold on the flight from San Francisco, and the show at Piano's on Saturday blew out what remained of my voice. I went through my entire tour's supply of Dayquil on Saturday, so I've resorted to milder remedies since, which mostly includes drinking a bunch of water and taking any recommended vitamin (Airborne, Wellness Formula, Fish Oil...) I spent most of the day figuring out which songs would be best without me singing, and occasionally trying to hum a thing or two to see if my voice had reappeared (it hadn't). This was made especially apparent as I tried to get on the phone to track down the rep from Pabst Brewing who had promised a free happy hour for the show, but wasn't returning any emails from me or the club booker.

Closer to showtime, Eric helps me drag my bass guitar and "the mummy" (a huge hardcase filled with my keyboard, bells, and various cords and pedals) onto the subway in Brooklyn, and we ride into the Lower East Side. The Annex is a really nice looking club – wood-paneled walls, cute leather booths, and a bar upstairs and down. The soundguy is very nice, as are the other bands we meet (Aeroplane Pageant, Division of Planes and The Dramas), so we're excited for a fun show. I mean, except for the "I can't sing" part. As Aeroplane Pageant are setting up their equipment onstage for a soundcheck, a man walks in from the street and asks what band we are in. I tell him, and he kind of looks at me blankly, then walks out. Then walks in again, and I overhear him saying something about "lots of people" and "Beatles". Whatever. I left the room for awhile (either consciously or physically, i can't remember), and the next thing I know I'm hearing about ten bands playing on the bill rather than the four originally planned. It turned out that Mr. Beatles had talked to a friend of a friend of a friend of someone, and had "arranged" a show at the Annex to pay tribute to the anniversary of John Lennon's death. According to him, other shows were going on at the same time in other places such as Cleveland. At a certain point, I hear that this man has put one of his friends at the door to collect money, and it seems apparent that these other bands will be playing as well, but we figure it will all happen after our bands are all done. But Mr. Beatles then starts coming up with all sorts of interesting ideas, such as "let's take the drum kit that's already set up and that all of you are using tonight off of the stage so that I can put my bands' drumkit up there." Thankfully, this suggestion was quashed by Dan from the Dramas and the folks in Division of Planes. If only Mr. Beatles had looked in a mirror, he might have seen the words "Let It Be" printed on his tshirt. Assuming he could read backwards, it would have been an invaluable lesson for him to learn that night.

We played first, and put together a set with minimal singing on my part. But there were times when I couldn't resist, so by the end of it all, Adrienne prescribed me a night of no talking. I imagined myself a silent movie star, only able to express myself through facial expressions and hand movements. In actuality, it was more like being in a foreign country where no one understands you, and all you can do is nod and smile, nod and smile.