We held an event called “Camp Guster” and 50 of you know what I’m talking about

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One day this extended Guster Telethon will end.  But until that day, road journals — once a portal to rock debauchery that put Dionysus / Wilt Chamberlain / Lindsay Lohan / Sodom / Gommorah to shame — until that day these road journals will document family-friendly musician-fan bonding stories, based on the experiences people have picked from our Pledge page.  Also, don’t forget I puked from tequila shots in the last road journal.

When the Pledge days have expired we will do our damned-est to carry on “Camp Guster” in some shape or form.  Year One was epic.  It was beyond epic.  Every member of Guster was shocked by how epic it was, and as far as I could tell the campers were pretty happy too.  So we’ll turn this over to  camper “Brett” —  who laughed, cried, and paddleboarded, when not stuffing his face with sustainable local cupcakes.

His version of events is thorough and sincere, whereas my version would have been abbreviated and cloaked in the usual sarcasm (it’s a fear of intimacy thing).  Take it from here, Brett, you get the italic treatment…

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Guster’s music has been a staple in my life for the last 10 years. With every new album release, I’ve always looked for an opportunity to see the band preform live. I’ve been fortunate, living on Long Island, to have had a great many opportunities to see their shows. From the acoustic set at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, to the nostalgic Parachute revival at Brooklyn Bowl, every performance is a new way to re-discover the band.

            Naturally, when the new album was announced and the unending shopping list of Guster fantasies was introduced, one option stuck out among the rest. Camp Guster. I grabbed my ticket and planned for my weekend in Freeport, Maine. After a nice weekend exploring the area, Sunday finally came and with it, Camp Guster. I knew right from the start that this was going to be an unforgettable experience. As I approached the L.L. Bean store where the group was meeting for registration, Ryan, Adam, Brian, and Luke walked directly in front of my path drinking coffee and laughing with each other. It was as if they were just four friends getting together for a nice Sunday or casually shopping. Suffice it to say, I couldn’t wait to see what would happen next. After a few minutes, the band came out in full L.L. Bean camp counselor gear to personally register every fan for camp.

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            Sporting zip pants-to-shorts khakis, woodsmen plaid button ups of varying colors, wool grey vests, and fishing caps, each band member greeted us with a handshake and a smile. Ryan, Adam, Brian, and Luke all began to ask where each fan had traveled from, how their weekend was going, if they were excited. The atmosphere became friendly very quickly and the adrenaline of being completely star-struck at first turned into a warm respect for the band and the day they had put together for us. Excited about their new camp counselor whistles, Brian, Adam, and Luke gave them a good blast and announced for everyone to get on the bus. Adam and Ryan went onto the first bus, and Luke and Brian went on the second. We spent the bus riding all sort of gawking at the fact that they had just sat next to somebody and began talking like we were all old friends.

            Once we arrived at the L.L. Bean discovery school, we were gathered together for a group photo in front of their mascot car shaped like a boot. As we worked out the logistics of the picture, we noticed music playing out of speakers directly behind us that sounded familiar. It was the new album. Our backdrop for the rest of the day was the sound of the brand new Guster album playing in its entirety on repeat for the rest of the day, three months before it’s due to be released. We were assigned to four groups to participate in events throughout the day. I was part of the Big Friends group while there was also The Architects, The Engineers, and The Simple Machines.

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            First up was Archery with Luke Reynolds. While our Archery instructor was explaining how to properly shoot a bow, many of us were still sort of reeling from the fact that this was happening at all. No one seemed to move for a few minutes until someone began to casually talk to Luke. It very quickly turned into a wonderful dialogue between fan and artist, and we all were curious. Luke answered all of our questions with sincerity and enthusiasm. We talked about living in Nashville, Turkey calling, and what Joe Pisapia was up to these days. Luke affectionately spoke about his father as his “Pops”.

            Next up was Lawn Games with Brian Rosenworcel. This very quickly became the most competitive event of the day and Brian was pumped to get a game of volleyball going. After a few rotations, I found myself face to face with the Thunder God himself on opposite sides of the net. And Brian has a good foot and a half on me. Despite the moment being extremely intimidating, Brian was a great sport and we had a blast. A few Camp Gusterians had brought their children along and I saw a nice moment in which Brian was coddling one of the youngsters.

            Next, we went kayaking with Ryan Miller. After we all got into the water and began to relax on beautiful Casco Bay, Ryan pulled his kayak up beside ours to say hi. We drifted along together for a while chatting. The woman in the front of my kayak shared a great story in which she met Ryan at a concert on the eve of her 30th birthday. Ryan had meant to give her 30 high fives but had gotten distracted so only made it to 12 or so. Well Ryan saw this as the perfect opportunity to finish the count. I sat there and laughed as both kayaks rocked back and forth with each high five to get to 30.

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            Finally, we had upright paddle boarding with Adam Gardner. This is a unique sport for those of you have never tried it. It was my first time, but it seemed like I took to it naturally because I had somehow managed to be the first person out in the water. As I looked to my right, there’s Adam floating right along next to me. For a moment or two, it was just me and him out on the water. I asked him what it was like to live in Maine, and I commented on how beautiful the scenery was. He smiled and explained how much he loved it there. As we were floating along, Adam’s daughter ran along the dock beside us, giggling and taunting her father to go faster.

            After the activities, we headed to Wolf’s Neck Farm to end the night. Delicious organic and sustainable foods were served. Ryan happened to wander over to the table (haystack) I was eating on, and again struck up friendly conversation with everyone around. After dinner, we were treated to one of the most intimate and breathtaking acoustic sets I have ever witnessed. With our group no larger than 50-75 people, and the instruments and microphones set up on a literal cliff overlooking the water, a more perfect stage could not be set. As the sun went down and the sky turned pink and yellow behind them, the four members of Guster played a fun, heartfelt, and amazing set of their music. A few old songs, and a few new. During “Do You Love Me?” someone actually proposed, which only added more joy to the event. I and my fellow Camp Gusterians would agree that it was an experience like none other.

            At the end of the event we all headed back toward the busses to journey home. I made it a point to seek out Ryan, Adam, Brian, and Luke one last time to shake their hands and thank them for doing this for us. Each of the band members felt so familiar now and so welcoming. Each handshake left me with a firm impression of the dignity and respectfulness that these artists have for their music and their fans. Ryan even wound up giving me a hug. The last person I saw was Luke, and I thanked him for putting this day together for us, and that the new album sounded amazing. I can’t wait to get it when it hits stores. Luke thanked me for the kind words and said the following, “I can’t wait for you guys to be able to take it home and play it in your headphones or in your car and have something to be really proud of.” The amusing thing is, that I’m already proud to be a Guster fan because of the beautifully crafted and inspiring music they’ve written. Now I’m even more proud to have met the men behind the music who shared stories of family, music, friendship and life with us. I’m proud to have been a part of the Guster family for one day.­

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One Night in Koreatown

The following post is about a night with fans who “Pledged” support and joined me for a night of karaoke in NYC.  It is not really from “the road” but it involves me puking and so it’s posted here.

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Karaoke Night had two generous takers:  Brandi and Hadley.  But Hadley didn’t show up on time and it seemed for a minute that Brandi and I were bound for an unbelievably awkward one-on-one karaoke date together.  Fortunately my wingman Dave Schneider from The Zambonis showed up, as did Hadley and Hadley’s-freeloading-friend-Clara.  If you are ever going to host your own fundraising karaoke event the first thing you should do is call Dave Zamboni and make sure he’s available.

We started with tequila shots.

You learn pretty early on in a small private karaoke room that you can’t get away slipping a tiny fart out here or there.  Busted.  Beers were consumed rather quickly.  We need another round.

The song book had one Guster tune in it, One Man Wrecking Machine, so we started off with a big singalong while the stock video showed a Korean woman in a dress walking through a garden.  Lazy videography if you ask me, but a great icebreaker for our motley crew, and 8 years later OMWM still hits me as a great song.  We all agree to close the night with another One Man Wrecking Machine, kind of like when Willie Nelson opens and closes a live show with Whiskey River.  More shots.

This is where I stop remembering things clearly.  At one point we were all standing up singing a Jay Z song that I’d never heard before but that didn’t stop me from singing it at the top of my lungs.  Here’s a picture:

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Also, you know you’re drunk when a Journey lyric about clowns hits you, emotionally, for the first (and last) time ever.  Here’s a picture:

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Best part of the night?  Dave insisted on playing two new Guster songs for Brandi and Hadley.  I was vehemently opposed to the idea, which seemed like a buzzkill in the context of searching for “Take On Me” alphabetically by artist name.  But they persevered and shared a set of earbuds to listen to “Doin’ It By Myself” and “Never Coming Down” together while I watched their reactions like a hawk and slipped out tiny farts.  Like the classy people they were, they were effusive about the tunes and it made me so damn happy.  Great idea, Dave!  Hadley’s-freeloading-friend-Clara doesn’t get to listen because she’s freeloading for the evening.

I was also impressed that everyone in the room could shout out “Debaser” by The Pixies with as much passion as we had when I put on “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus.  We are a versatile group.  More beers, One Man Wrecking Machine, and it was time to go to The Greatest Korean Restaurant in New York City.  It’s called Pocha 32, you can google it.  Order the #39 and order the squid stuffed with pork belly.  Don’t order the giant watermelon that tastes like kool aid but is actually full of demon alcohol.

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I must have taken a cab home.  I had to move my son’s little toy boat out of the bathroom sink so I could puke in it.  Eleven times.

Pledge Money Raised:  $ + 600
Karaoke Bill (Including Alcohol):  $ – 400
Restaurant Bill:  $ – 225
Hadley’s-Freeloading-Friend-Clara’s Contribution:  $0
—————–
Money Raised to Promote the New Guster Album:  $ – 25.00

(An Epic Evening of Karaoke with New Friends:  Priceless)

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Lessons from Parachute @ 20… by Brian “Thundergod” Rosenworcel

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On Sunday we played our college album Parachute from start to finish, live at a bowling alley in Brooklyn.  Twice.  It’d been 20 years since we recorded those eleven tunes while earning incompletes from our professors during our junior year at Tufts, back before we added the TER to the GUS.  It had probably been 17 years since any of us had listened to the album (Luke listened to it in October for the first time ever).  And with the exception of three survivors who limped their way into our setlist every year or two (that’d be “Mona Lisa,” “Window,” and “Parachute”), most of the songs were retired before the the turn of the millennium.  14 years ago.

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We each had our moments where we cringed while checking in with our teen-songwriting-selves, and unless you’re The Strokes or The Violent Femmes, your first foray into album-making is bound to show some noob.  For me I cringed at my percussion parts, front and center, the busiest bee in the room, buzzing exactly the same way on almost every song… it wouldn’t be until Lost & Gone Forever five years later that I’d figure out how to put space and creativity into my kit to let the songs breathe.  But I also cringed along with my bandmates at their age-appropriate lyrics and overzealous vocal stylings.  Adam and Ryan pretty much played the same guitar part on every song back then — it’s unclear who was copying who.  But these weren’t the major takeaways from the Parachute revisit.

Because there were a lot of musical things going on in those songs too — and the production by Mike Denneen, on reflection, was genius.  He managed to complement our instrumentation with great, subtle players who gave each song an identity it wouldn’t have had.  A handful of our college buddies contributed too, most notably Tom Swafford who brought “Window” to life with a thoughtful and virtuosic violin performance — but Denneen’s guys really stepped up and helped Parachute become a sonically pleasing record.  I am talking mostly about Jay Bellerose, who played drums on “Mona Lisa,” “Eden,” “Dissolve,” and “Parachute,” and Mike Rivard, who played upright bass on a number of songs.  If you happened to catch us really enjoying playing “The Prize” at Brooklyn Bowl the other night, it’s probably because Mike’s bass line added a deep jazzy flair to the verse of a country song.  Our first country song.

And I think we all were struck by how powerful it was when Ryan and Adam’s voices came together the way they did at many times on that album.  When harmonies and counter-melodies were huge priorities for our band.  I might be imagining it, but didn’t Ryan Miller tell the crowd that “we learned something” by visiting the album again the other day?  I am not sure what he learned, but I will guess the vocals struck him.  I was feeling it on “Cocoon” during the inter-woven “dream yourself to sleep at night” broken-down verse.  Do you know how many times I played the song “Cocoon” between 1993 and 1997?  Between 8 sets a night on weekends in Harvard Square where we often opened *and* closed with it, and endless van gigs where “Cocoon” brought down the house before it was replaced by “Fa Fa” in 1998 — it’s no wonder we really needed very little time to get the songs into working condition.  They’re in our blood. Forever a part of our DNA, for better and for worse.  Insert your own riding-a-bike metaphor HERE.

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So after years of being disparaged on stage, ignored in our set lists, and left to rot like The Big Friend itself — a stuffed animal that I received as a gift from my aunt at age 9 that probably wound up dumped in a landfill after being stolen along with the contents of our trailer from the mafia-run landscaping parking lot in New Jersey where Adam’s mom recommended we park our trailer during some downtime — after years of that sort of Big Friend-fate…. Parachute gets its moment and gets a respectful nod from the man who almost ruined it with his bongos.  I’ll even say that the *song* “Parachute” impressed me.  What a great song.

Because I also listened to Goldfly, which we recorded at the end of 1996, and was shocked to discover how much worse it sounded than Parachute.  I mean it sounds awful.  That we ever got a chance to redeem ourselves a few years later on Lost & Gone Forever is a miracle.  There will be no anniversary celebrations, Goldfly.

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Oil-spotted

This might be the last road journal for a little while.  Let’s go out with a bang.

Everyone remembers rule #1 of tour bus living, right?  No dropping #2’s on the bus.  That is, unless you poop in a bag of shame.

I don’t do the bag of shame.  That is not how I choose to live my life.  But last night around 2:30 in the morning we pulled over at a truck stop in Connecticut and I had to crap.  We were en route to Providence for our last show of the tour.  I was awake because no one really sleeps on tour busses, they just lie in their bunks as if they’re sleeping.  So imagine my good fortune to have the opportunity to do my business at a clean rest stop rather than clenching my sphincter all night and hunting for a random Dunkin Donuts bathroom at 9am in Providence.  

I threw on some shorts and CROCS and headed inside to the rest stop facility.  I was careful to leave one of our driver’s wintergreen mints on his seat to indicate that I was not on the bus and he shouldn’t leave until I’m back.  That was his rule.  

It probably took five minutes.  Isn’t five minutes about the average time for this activity?  I’m totally normal!  When I went outside the bus was gone.

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Gone.

I thought maybe it had just pulled over to the parking area to get out of the way of the gas pumps and wait for me, but I didn’t see it anywhere.  Maybe it’s a last-night-of-the-tour hilarious prank!?  Nope.  I was what we call in the business, “oil-spotted”… and so I had to consider my options:

1.  There really are no good options

Because I didn’t bring my phone or wallet or anything off the bus with me — I was stranded.  Remember the days before cell phones when you actually memorized your friends’ phone numbers?  In this moment, I missed those days terribly.  I thought of whose numbers I had actually converted to memory.  My wife!?  She doesn’t hear her phone at 2:30 in the morning.  My parents!?  Please, there has to be a better option than waking up my parents in Hartford and having them drive an hour and a half to Stamford to pick me up and bring me to Providence in the middle of the night because I decided to take a crap at a rest stop.  Maybe I could get away with that when I was 39.  Ryan Miller!!

Ryan wasn’t riding the bus that night.  He was out in the Hamptons partying with ScarJo and meeting us in Rhode Island the next day.  Wasn’t his phone number some easy moniker like 617-HOT-DUNG, and he’d be up, and he could call everyone on the bus and catch someone who’d tell the driver to turn around because I’d been abandoned at the rest stop?

I walk up to the person at the McDonald’s counter and blather on and on about a missing tour bus and needing to make a call and six one seven hot dung.  I start speaking horrible Spanish half way through because I am losing my mind and that’s what you do.  The manager comes out and lets me use his cell phone but doesn’t take his eye off me.  He shouldn’t.

Okay, 617-HOT-DUNG was Ryan Miller’s phone number in like 1998, and has been disconnected.  That was so stupid.  I am resigned to spend the night sleeping under the fluorescent lights of the Mobil / McDonald’s Rest Stop, but I am not panicky.  I feel too good after having a pretty good crap.  Nothing else matters.

That’s when I remember our manager’s cell phone number, good old Dalton Sim.  Under the persistent stink-eye gaze of the McDonald’s manager I dial up Dalton Sim, who can be seen with a towel around his neck halfway through this video.  This is my last chance.

Voicemail.  I leave a blathering message about wintergreen mints, McDonald’s managers, and how long it’d take to walk to Providence.  I call him back five minutes later.

“Hello?”  Good old Dalton Sim!  He is asleep, and he is talking to me on the phone from Martha’s Vineyard.  It’s a miracle, but he still has to connect with someone and turn the bus around.

And an hour later, the bus arrived at the rest stop.  

My conversation with Kevin, our bus driver, went like this:

Brian:  “I think we need to reconsider that wintergreen mint policy”

Kevin:  “Huh?”

Brian:  “I left the mint on your seat when I went in, you didn’t see it?”

Kevin:  “You’re supposed to leave a *poker chip* not a mint”

Kevin:  “Don’t be puttin’ no candy on my seat”

Brian:  “Goodnight Kevin”

Kevin:  “OK goodnight”

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Sailing the Seas of Cheese

Last night in Charleston SC, Ryan told the story of how members of Guster joined members of BNL on a boat that day, singing along to a mix of yacht rock favorites and enjoying the view of the city from the bay.  Luke refused to let another guy lube up his back with sunblock, leaving a “homophobic patch” of sunburnt pink skin in the middle of his back, where he couldn’t reach, despite bending his elbows and stretching his fingers in an attempt to cover his entire back on his own.  Or as Ryan said to the Bible Belt Area Crowd — “in an attempt to cover his entire back without the touch of another man“…

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Thanks Luke, for being a good sport and showing us your homophobic patch of sunburn, even though you say Ryan has the story totally wrong — but we’re actually not interested in your version of the story.  Enjoy this inter-coastal yacht rock video of their day on the seas:

You can’t see Luke’s backside to know that he’s slowly growing a pink homophobic patch as they Ride Like The Wind, but it’s happening.

Conspicuously absent from this voyage was yours truly, the 40-something Thundergod, who has been all SARS’d up since his birthday.  They did post a pic of my backside on the BNL twitter though.

And since I began this road journal earlier in the day, we played “Either Way” in Raleigh with Ryan and Ed Robertson from BNL holding hands while singing it.  Full circle.  If anyone has a picture of that, send it to me and I will post it here.

UPDATE:  Thanks for the pic, Maia!

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Toronto

I went home for a couple days while the bus rolled on to Canada for two days off this week.  Look at this picture of the flooding that occurred in Toronto right before the band arrived:

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It made getting to the Molson Canadian Amphitheater a bit of an adventure for all involved.  Our terrific and usually interpersonally-savvy bus driver, Kevin, had a not-so-bright moment entering the country while the rest of the band and crew were asleep in their bunks.  The Canadian border patrol folks started in with the usual questions — what’s the band name?  where are you performing?  do you have your work papers?  are you selling any merchandise?

The interview was going smoothly when Kevin was asked if there were any firearms on the bus:

Not that I know of” said Kevin.

Everyone wake up.  Put on some shorts.  Off the bus, into the holding tank at the Canadian Customs Agency.  Bring on the genital-sniffing dogs.  Thanks Kevin.  We’re lucky they didn’t search Guster’s cavities.

Meanwhile after two lovely but sleepless (twin babies) days at home, I nearly missed the Toronto show — a four hour delay at JFK airport followed by a $53 cab to “somewhere in the vicinity of The Molson Canadian Theater”… flooding and some strange Canadian NASCAR race had rendered the area around the theater confusing and “unapproachable” — at least according to my cab driver, who told me that I merely needed to walk for a few minutes across a pedestrian foot bridge to reach my destination, while in the car it’d take forever to work through the traffic and detours.

I eagerly accepted this explanation and showed my earnest NYC love for pedestrianism by hopping out of the car and paying him fifty three bucks and wishing him well as he drove off.  I think I was blowing him kisses.  Then I walked right into a 7 foot tall chain link fence with no openings in it.  This fence stretched on for miles.  I was in a strange parking lot.  There was a middle aged woman in this parking lot, talking on her phone.  Now I am in Alice in Wonderland.  

The woman is trying to explain to her son where she is, and waving her arms randomly to no one in particular.  I wonder how many years she’s been in this parking lot.  On the other side of the fence is a dead highway.  I can hear race cars zipping by across another fence.  The woman on the phone is my only hope.  

She asks where I’m going and then laughs when I say I am trying to get to the Molson Amphitheater on foot.  She tells me my only option is to hop the fence and cross the highway to get to the bridge.  Then she turned into a hobbit.  No.  Then she went back to her phone call and left me to my own judgment.

The fence was taller than I was.  I had a backpack with my toiletries, some clean clothes, and a laptop computer in it.  I also had a cardboard box with three snare heads in it.  The top of the fence was not a smooth horizontal pipe, but pointy jagged sawed-off chain links.  I walked up and down looking for an entry point.  I found a tree.  

Now I am in a tree and I never have been good at climbing trees.  I am going on whatever sleep I got in a chair at Terminal 2 during my delay at JFK.   I am trying to plop my luggage over a fence, onto a highway, so I can get to my show before it starts.  I manage to hurl the cardboard box with the drum heads in it over the fence.  Vertigo.  I decide the tree is a bad idea and I climb down.

I am now officially committed to this fence plan.  I’ve thrown about 60 dollars worth of drum heads over the fence, onto an abandoned highway.  I doubt I can climb the fence at all, but I certainly can’t climb it with this backpack.  So I reach up and dangle it over the fence, dropping it so it lands on the cardboard box, and hopefully not smashing my computer to bits.  This is so dumb.  I am so dumb.  Why does this always?  I am doubly committed now.  In addition to my drum heads, my electronic toothbrush, passport, and laptop are sitting on the pavement on the other side of this fence.  

Using the tree to sort of shimmy myself up, I awkwardly get a leg up on top of the 7 foot fence.  I am definitely bleeding in one, maybe two places.  I cannot rest my torso on top of the spiky fence and flop over, so I have to pretty much perch myself on top and just jump.  Standing semi-upright on the fence, my legs are shaking and I start wobble.  I make sure to fall on the highway side, but the rubber on my shoe gets snagged on the loose top fencing and my legs give out when I land.  It is not pretty.  I look up for the hobbit-woman, and she didn’t see it.  She is too busy waving her arms at an imaginary person.  I brush myself off and walk to my concert.  I passed a 17 year old kid on the way, talking on his phone and looking around frantically, and pointed him towards his insane mother.

So it should come as no surprise that, while the Guster set went off without a hitch, I brain farted my guest appearance with Barenaked Ladies on Brian Wilson.  I was sitting content in a leather chair in our dressing room, actually checking out Andy Creegan’s conga parts on the original Brian Wilson recording from the album Gordon, when Ryan Miller busted into the dressing room, and said “you have no idea what just happened, do you?”

What happened was that my song came and went, and Ed Robertson was stuck on stage introducing a Thundergod that never came.  Lucky for me, BNL is the one band incapable of having an awkward moment on stage — they actually changed the lyric of the song from “lying in bed, just like Brian Wilson did” to “lying in bed, just like Brian Rosenworcel is”… that is some serious flow.  

And I think lucky for me, an inebriated Ryan Miller stumbled out on stage and played conga during Brian Wilson in my stead.  Thanks for bailing me out Ryan!  Now everyone knows that banging on hand drums is easy as pie.  A bunch of people saw Ryan on their way out of the concert and said “there’s the bongo player dude!”

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Baby, I’m a Firework

We will let @KariPizza, a Milwaukee native and a bartender at Summerfest, narrate this road journal:

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Not every show, @KariPizza, just the important ones.  And it’s no secret we are huge fans of Summerfest, a two week festival on Lake Michigan (under a highway) in Milwaukee.  Milwaukee seems to understand something that other cities don’t – music should be accessible to everyone.  For like $15 on July 4th you could see over 100 bands, sometimes involving some tough choices, like when we went head to head with touring partners Barenaked Ladies last night, and when “Rush” was playing opposite “Skillet” earlier in the evening.

Anyway, back to our story.  I worked all day to learn the lyrics and melodies for “Firework” — a song I wasn’t familiar with but one that was very holiday-appropriate.

Also, for a little Katy Perry vs Guster history, check out this exchange from last summer:

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See — she started it!  She started this whole thing!  Mercifully, Ryan promised that this would be the first and last time we ever played it, before I went out in front of a festival crowd and sang Firework as best I could.  Let’s call in @KariPizza again for the commentary:

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Talk about hurt feelings, don’t you know that vocalists are sensitive people, who search for themselves on twitter after their performances to ensure that their message is reaching the people?  At least I can spell “and” …

Thankfully, @DailyJoce had my back:

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But let’s not do this.  Let’s not create twitter wars.  Let’s not fill the British tabloids with Katy Perry vs Guster drama that will only create strife and ill will.  Let’s let you all judge for yourselves.

By the way that was Ryan taking this panoramic of the crowd with the house lights on before we started the song.

The rest of the evening was just typical Milwaukee… I borrowed Ryan’s bike lock and snapped the key off trying to unlock my bike at a bar, so I had to recruit people to help me lift my bike over the street pole it was locked around, and then I couldn’t ride it back to the bus (people in NYC are trained to put the lock through the front wheel)… some bouncer wrestled a patron to the sidewalk right in front of us and put a boxcutter to his throat… meanwhile Ryan was in a stretch hummer (sorry Adam!) with 6 members of the NY Mets and why don’t I come meet them?  Including a certain All Star rookie pitching phenom who I would have foregone mac & cheese pizza to meet?  Terrible timing.  I have to stay with my bike which has a lock through the spokes of the wheel, sorry Matt Harvey.

I ended up with a purple shiner from bashing my own bicycle into my eye trying to stuff it in the storage bay of the bus when the bus finally bailed me out and picked me up at the bar.  At least I got my mac and cheese pizza.

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