Billy Brown recently drove cross country from Boston to LA. He tooks some photos and wrote a tour diary for us. That was nice.
As a grown man with no car, driver's license or self control with alcohol, I'm probably the worst possible person to organize a cross country road trip. But I've never been one to let poor planing dictate my life (see previous sentence), so I recently took it upon myself to pack up everything I own and convince (emphasis on con) my friend Crystal that she and I should quit life as we knew it and move out West.
For the most part I loved life in Boston. It'd been my home since the mid 1990s. But due to certain circumstances over the past two years I found myself not only desiring to move, but actually being in a position where it made sense to. I contemplated potential destinations and settled on Los Angeles. I figured if I was going to move somewhere different, it should be, well, different. Also it didn't hurt that everyone loves to trash LA. I enjoy that sort of thing.
Crystal is a solid travel buddy. She's worked merch and tour managed for my band Ashers, as well as for my solo tours. She's straight edge and ends up being (or attempting to be) the voice of reason when we're on tour together, which keeps me out of trouble. Sometimes.
We had a party where folks came over and helped pack in exchange for pizza and beer, and when they were finished they got to leave with a big pot brownie. I'm well versed in bribery. My cat critter tried to pack himself, but we had to tell him he'd be flying out later.
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| SORRY DUDE |
We were all set to leave by 1:30 on Sunday April 29th. Which of course turned into us leaving at 6:30 after more cocktails than had been planned and a last minute haircut from my friend, since I'm bad about stuff like that and by the time anyone in Boston sees me again I'll probably look like Howard Hughes.
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| I don't take very good care of myself, but chicks still dig it. Girls love a fixer-upper. |
I've toured the country countless times over the past 15 years, but I've never just done a road trip across country, so this promised to be fun. It also promised to be interesting, because my friends have also supplied me with lots of parting gifts: pot brownies, mushroom chocolates, adderall, a few bottles of liquor, etc. May god have mercy on Crystal's soul....
So we left, late, and started heading west on the Mass Pike, mostly kind of in shock that we were going out to CA with nowhere to live. Oh, did I mention that? Yeah, we have no real destination besides a storage unit in Echo Park that we'll be putting our belongings in. Luckily I know enough folks from playing in crummy bands for so long that we'll be OK with places to stay and whatnot, but still, it's a little strange. The other thing is that we only had five days to get to Southern California because I agreed to a show at the TKO record store that Friday. I had accepted the show because I thought it would be cool and kind of funny to roll into town and just play a show right away. Now that the trip was upon us though I'm started to wonder if we'd actually make it there in time with only one driver.
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They even made a flier. I have to show now. |
It's became a bit of a race against the clock. As we started getting towards the end of CT (thank god) we realize that we weren't paying attention and ended up on a road that doesn't have clearance for a truck as tall as ours, so every bridge we go under we were getting closer to getting stuck, much like a college kid on moving day in Boston. For those that are unaware, every September 1 there is a tradition in Boston of at least one Uhaul getting stuck in an underpass on Storrow Drive. It's pretty hilarious. I mean, unless you're the dumb ass that it's happening to, which at this moment, potentially, could've been us.
Things weren't helped by the fact that I had eaten a pot brownie, so not only did it seem like every overgrowth of trees was another bridge, but it seemed that they were actively trying to ensnare us. CT had decided I would never leave its cold and dull embrace.
Finally we were able to turn off the scary monster tree road. Unfortunately we were also in desperate need of gas. The funny thing about the rich part of CT that borders New York is that they really don't want you there. Unless you know where the hell the gas station is, you can't find the fucking thing. You can look it up on your computer phone, sure, but you might end up driving to a gas station that's more like a cute mom and pop general store out of the '50s (because all these honky fucks want their town to look like Mayberry) and it probably closes at 8 o'clock or something. So we almost ran out of gas driving in circles before finding a place, but somehow we found one and were able to keep driving for awhile. Stayed in a hotel in NJ and I was up all night acting like an extra in dazed and confused while Crystal got some sleep.
We left around 9 or so the next day. I passed out for a few hours because I hadn't slept and being the considerate man I am, I figured my snoring would irritate Crystal less than my incoherent babbling. We purchased a cooler at a Wal-mart, in part to keep drinks cold but mostly because a friend of mine had given me some maple syrup he had made out at his cabin the the woods of Vermont. I had been trying to get this damn syrup for almost a year now and he delivered it to me the day before I left town. There was no way I wasn't bringing it out with me. He even labeled it so I'd know it was mine.
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"Drugged”. That's a good thing right? |
After a few hours we decided to stop for lunch in some rural PA town that apparently has a university. I could tell it was a university town from the coffee and head shops we found. I don't think there are many latte-drinking-bong-smoking farmhands. (Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong on that though.) We saw some giant plastic dinosaurs and a shitty haunted house run out of a trailer. Actually, I don't know if it was shitty or not. I didn't go inside.
Then we stopped to get some food and look on Craigslist for places to live when we got to LA. I drank a bunch of these, which were great.
Back on the road. I decide it's a good time to finish my pot brownies. Every time I opened my bag the whole cab would smell like weed, so I thought it'd be good to at least get rid of that red flag as we headed further into the middle of the country. I also thought it would be as good a time as any for me to try one of the mushroom chocolates I had. It was pretty great. I saw beautiful scenery like this
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| AND THEN I PISSED ON IT |
Then the rain started. Really strong, vision-impairing, wrath of god style rain. We drove through it and were able to keep on making some distance until late night. Yet again, had there been a problem I would've been completely useless due to my fixation with how the rain was, “like a bath for nature,” or whatever other profound stoner insights I was probably having at that moment. We spent the night somewhere most of the way through Ohio, in some really industrial shitsville. As I was doing my nightly “chain smoking outside the hotel being a creep while Crystal tries to get some sleep” thing, I noticed that we were right next to a bunch of smokestacks for some scary plant. After being out there a while the sky filled up with the most amazing clouds I'd ever seen. Except they weren't just clouds. They were clouds of waste. It was very poignant and gave me all sorts of insight, most of which was pretty stupid. Everything is fucking poignant when you're fucked up. Regardless, it was a serious bum out.
The next day we wake up and start hauling ass (haulin oates) outta OH and into the great state (I'm lying) of Indiana. At this point I think I should introduce our mascot for this trip. His name is “Shame Duck”. I named him that when I was high. I thought it was funny. Crystal hated it, which made it much more funny. He's from CA originally so we were going to bring him home. I think he's like an otter or something
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| Adorable |
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| BUT DEVIOUS |
After making some time in IN we decide to stop for lunch. Indiana kind of sucks for food I think, then again I purposefully have stayed away from IN as much as possible since I almost got shot there when on tour. I was rolling through town with my old band Shoot the Hostages back in '98 (yes. I'm old. Thanks for your concern), and it's kind of a long story but apparently people here don't like getting whiskey spit in their faces, and REALLY don't like when you stand on top of a car and tell them their state “would make a lovely parking lot.” People. Sheesh.
So we stop for food at a place called Show-me's, which it turns out is pretty much the poor man's Hooters. Gangly, emaciated white trash girls with mean eyes and dim prospects for the future? Sign me the fuck up. We had some sandwiches and I got drunk. It seems to be a thing here for folks to write things on dollar bills and put them on the wall. I debated for a bit about just stealing all the dollars I could. I felt like it would be a valuable lesson for the townsfolk to learn. Then I saw something that changed my mind.
How the fuck am I going to deny somebody else of the pleasure of seeing “children are god's greatest gifts” alongside “JERK FACE”, “BALLS”, and “Bee-atch” (sp). I'm not. I'm better than that.
Back in the van for question and answer time.
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| I still think Dunkin Donuts is piss coffee, but I'll miss it anyway |
On to MI, more specifically St. Louis.
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| Come for the arch, stay for the...arch? |
I got some amazing ribs at a place called “Pappys” PIGS, DICKS, AND MOTORCYCLES. This works on so many levels.
And I took an emo photo. I figured it could come in handy eventually.
After the ribs and self loathing we drove a few more hours and stopped for the night. The next day we had shitty coffee at some adorable little cafe. I've never understood the lack of real iced coffee in hot climates. Please don't pour hot coffee over ice and tell me it's ice coffee. It's not. All that does is give me watery, piss-warm coffee. Don't you people realize that it's hot out? After driving for a few more hours we stopped for lunch at the Hard Rock Casino in Tulsa, OK. Crystal likes to collect knick-knacks from Hard Rock Cafes it seems. I was hard pressed to make a valid argument as to why we shouldn't stop there, since she had been putting up with my Timothy Leary impression since we left Boston, so the Hard Rock it was. We ate at Toby Keith's bar, which was about as good as you would expect. I had a chicken fried steak that probably took more years off my life than all the things I had ingested to get this far. I'm still kind of confused as to who Toby Keith is. I know he's a pop country singer that loves America and hates the Dixie Chicks, and he makes a crappy chicken fried steak.
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| This was cool though |
We wandered around the casino a while. I don't like to gamble. I think it's foolish and I have enough vices already (not to mention I think it requires money, of which I have none), but I had won a few bucks earlier in the trip somewhere playing a slot machine and figured it was worth a buck to kill a little time. I played a dollar and won $26! After briefly contemplating my new life as a professional quarter slot machine player, I decided it was better to take the money and run, which I did, to the bar and promptly drank my winnings plus some before we got back in the truck.
We kept driving into the dark and boring night. It started to get pretty late, and we figured we'd stop off and get some gas at the next town. The town was Shamrock, TX. Now for those who don't know me, I love making fun of the Irish. It's part self-loathing, as I'm part Irish. (I'm actually a mutt, and identify myself as such. I don't trust you purebreds. I think you're all the result of too much sister fucking or something.) The other part comes from my love/hate relationship with my beloved Boston. So naturally I'm having a field day with a place called Shamrock, TX. As we're pulling off the highway we notice that the truck is making a strange squeaking noise. Now since there are pretty much no other places to stop until we get to Amarillo, TX, we figure we should call the budget rental folks and tell them to have someone come check on this, since getting stuck in the middle of nowhere in TX is some horror movie shit. So Mr. I-like-to-make-fun-of-the-Irish gets stuck in Shamrock TX looking at stuff like this.
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| You gotta be kidding me |
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| SERIOUSLY. GO FUCK YOURSELF, SHAMROCK. |
Luckily the truck just needed to cool down a bit, and after a little bit of engine work by Shame Duck we were good to go again.
We kept driving and were able to make it to Amarillo, TX to stop for the night. Before we went to the cheapo motel we stopped at a chain place called Buffalo Wild Wings. I got a mojito. I'm pretty sure the waitress wanted to call me a fag for ordering that, and had many a chuckle with the doughy sports-video-game-and-internet-porn-connoisseur-bartender about it. (No offense, Luke). They were more respectful when I switched to beer and ordered a couple shots of whiskey 'cause I really wanted to knock myself out for the night. I don't get folks who think of drinking as “manly." It's not manly or feminine. It's drinking. I put umbrellas in every drink I can. Why? 'Cause it's fucking fun that's why. Your knowledge of small batch bourbon isn't really something to base a personality on.
I do have a fun game I like to play whenever I am stuck in a chain restaurant bar. It goes like this. See if they have an internet jukebox Play Slayer on repeat
So after thoroughly bumming out the other customers and staff, and somehow leaving without getting beat up by some cool bros in tap out gear, we went and crashed for the night.
I took a lot of these shots cause I thought it looked like a Kubrick film. It turns out I was just really high. The next day Crystal wanted to stop at this place in the desert where they have all these cars buried straight up in the ground. Seeing as whenever we're on tour we never stop for these types of things because of time constraints, I was down with making sure we did something touristy for her, since watching me drool and have drunken conversations with the stuffed otter (or whatever the hell Shame Duck is) apparently wasn't quite exciting enough for her. So we stopped and checked it out.
There was a can of spray paint there so I wrote my name, I feel so alive. At this point we're really under the gun to make it to LA in time to drop off our stuff, return the truck, and make it down to the TKO record store in time for the show. So we haul ass and try and make some time. I take lots of nature pics on the way.
Feel free to picture the coyote chasing the roadrunner on your computer screen for a more enjoyable viewing experience.
We stopped for lunch at the Black Bird cafe in Albaquerque, NM. I like this place. Whenever I've played at the Launchpad they always give us meal vouchers for here. They have good food and beer and the place is great, providing that you can get past the fact that there's always some sort of jazz trio playing. Plus they have a burger called the “666 burger”, and I dig Satan.
After relaxing with some food and sending some emails for apartments, we left and got through the rest of NM and AZ as quickly as our little wheels could take us. There was no money or time for a motel room so we slept for a few hours at a rest area as soon as we crossed into CA. After a couple hours of sleeping sitting up, we finished the trip and finally made it to LA. We emptied all our stuff into a storage space (I didn't have any more means of bribery, so that ended up just being the two of us), returned the truck and got a cab to my friend shawn's house.
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| Bye stuff. See ya when I have a home. |
There was just enough time for a quick shower and a bite to eat, before we were picked up by our friends Pete and Rufio who would be playing the show as well. We were running late. Then we overshot the exit on the highway and were really late. Luckily we showed up just in time to play. The show was fun, even if I couldn't remember how to play a really simple cover I've been playing for over a year.
If you're ever in Orange County (and if so, I'm sorry), go check out the TKO record store. It's pretty awesome.
So yeah, that was my trip. It wasn't nearly as debauched or shady as touring usually is for me, and I was definitely a lot more comfortable throughout it, but it had it's own little special type of suck and ridiculousness to it that was outside of the usual kinds I deal with. I now live in LA, and am already stockpiling things to make fun of here, becayse, well, it's really easy.
Here's my little bit of shameless self promotion. For more ramblings (hopefully this will inspire me to actually update the fucking thing) you can go to my site. You can download my EP for free from the fine folks at Death to False Hope Records or we could become and paint each other's nails and such.
--BILLY BROWN
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