Show Stories

Shows. Stories. Stories about shows.

It was a weekend of shows in NYC and Pennsylvania with Apes of the State and other new friends; and where there is a weekend of shows, there are always stories.

In Brooklyn, manning the merch table, I had more of those strange experiences, where people come up to me just to shake my hand and tell me that I had changed their life and that not a day goes by when our music doesn’t give them strength and so on. Eyes wide, hearts palpitating, they come up to someone who can’t remember his own bank card PIN number half the time and tell him what a genius he is. I understand, I would get the same with many of my heroes, for example I once found myself literally unable to speak while standing in a social circle with Lenny from Darkbuster. But boy does that continue to be weird.

In addition, there were some ladies there from Staten Island, NY, and in case you didn’t know, no-one on the planet does screechy, drunken drama like ladies from Staten Island. The folks I’ve met from that borough are kind-hearted, sociable, rooted in a lot of family and cultural tradition, and—more than occasionally—fucking bonkers. One lady, apparently smitten with our mandolin player, saw him talking to another lady (who was, gasp, not from Staten Island: sin of sins!) She walked right up to him, threw her drink in his face, punched him square in said face, and was hauled out of the bar by a bouncer. Outside, I watched as she proceeded to have an absolute shit-drunk meltdown that actually made it on to several NYC-based instagram reels. EPIC.

The next night, Apes of the State put on a Holiday Spectacular in Millersville, PA, which was an absolute riot. I was struck by how unbelievably friendly and supportive everyone was in that scene; hats off to April from Apes for cultivating this amazing community in their local area. For example, someone took a sketch pad and sat off to the side of the mosh pit, drawing this:

Who does that? And the show was fantastic, people went nuts and by the end of our set we were so sweaty and collectively drunk that we just barely pulled off a wild version of the Surfin’ Turnips’ Return to Turbo Island:

But Millersville, in the heart of Amish country, Pennsylvania? Where it looks like Dwight Schrute’s brother is going to come around every corner and try to sell you a basket of yams? Wow. Do not get me wrong: I love the part of America that begins west of New Jersey and goes all the way to, like, Montana. It’s a beautiful, haunting place, with all kinds of history and wonderful down-to-earth people.

But it’s also very easy for city folk like us to have a couple of giggles. Case in point: we took a wrong turn and ended up on a long residential street, full of modest little homes. And we stopped and stared as a kid who appeared to be about 12 or 13 was… throwing a piece of wood against a cement wall, picking it up, and throwing it again. Recreationally. Truly, a wild night out in Millersville, PA!

It’s been fun to watch guys who are new to touring get better at it. Our drummer, Vibes, was sat down for hours behind a table, bored during our six hour wait at the venue, and increasingly annoyed as people kept asking him what they should put in the little raffle box in front of him. At first he just rolled his eyes and said “I dunno, I’m not in charge of this thing.” This started to wear on him. So he got a pint. Then he got another pint. Then another. And all of a sudden he was standing up shouting: “RAFFLE!! GET YOUR RAFFLE TICKETS IN HERE, FOLKS!! RAFFLE!!!” And demanding that people write their social security numbers and home addresses on the raffle tickets. And offering to let them put their name in twice if they got him another beer. See, that’s how you do it. Never let the boredom defeat you. There are always self-destructive, borderline-sociopathic ways to defeat the boredom. You just have to be ready to do it.

After the show, it was 4:15 am at the glorious $71 motel room I’d rented for us, and the room next door suddenly erupted in screeching and shouting—a real theme for the weekend. It soon became clear that a lady next door was very upset with someone she was video chatting with, and she kept saying “come on over here then! come on over here then! I’ll show you what I’m made of! I’ll show you how serious I am! Room 312!”

I suppose I should have been pissed off, but all I could think, in my delerious daze was: actually, yeah. come over. please come over. I’d open our window and watch. that would be AWESOME. America is kind of awesome.

Anyway, we’re off to Oregon now for our New Years’ shows with the Bridge City Sinners, so stay tuned for, that’s right kids: more stories.