The Touring Returns

And just like that, Yacht Rock started touring again like nothing had ever happened.

The first weekend in July found us in the Northeast, beginning with a pair of gigs in Delaware. The van and trailer met us at the airport in Baltimore, but before we could even grab our luggage, the first show had been canceled due to bad weather. 

 

We spent the night in a hotel full of little league baseball players and their families, all of whom seemed to be hanging out in the lobby all the time. I slept a lot and ate two pizzas.

Our second night in Delaware was at the Bottle and Cork. Lots of vibe, lots of people, lots of noise. 

It was sold out, and the crowd was boisterous. It was apparently more than that poor old PA could handle, even though Kip had it pushed to the limit. That being said, I had a good show--everything felt nice and loose.

We added the Isley Brothers version of Summer Breeze and Love The One You're With, and the I cannot ever sing the right words in the chorus--I think it's one of those songs that everybody hears differently. The line "There's a rose in a fisted glove"--I grew up thinking it was "There's a road in a distant flood," which makes no sense with the rest of the chorus, but whatever. I will continue to sing something in between the two until my brain finally gets it right.

At one point, Greg got distracted and couldn't remember the last verse of Southern Cross, and the band vamped on Wipeout while I pulled up the lyrics on my phone, at which point we successfully segued back into Southern Cross. Hopefully it was recorded somewhere for posterity.

Following the show, we drove an hour and a half to Philadelphia. The next morning, we flew to Boston and then took a private van down to the end of Cape Cod. Kip and Hans drove the van up to meet us.

The food we ordered did not make it before the gig, but someone at the venue made us a salad and risotto, and maybe something else.

By the time the gear arrived, the wind and the rain had found us, and the temperature had dropped to around sixty degrees. The gig was under a giant tent, but it was not fully enclosed, and things got cold pretty quickly, even with a rabid audience right up against the stage.

This was an awful gig for me. First of all, my sax mic problem (where there would randomly be no sound) came back, and there was no time to try and do anything to fix it, so I once again spent way too much brain power trying to diagnose it while I was playing. Along with that frustration, my hands got cold and sticky because of the cold and damp, and I messed up the middle two measures of the goddamn Africa solo. I was cold, I was tired, my shit didn't work, the tent sounded bad...AGGGGGHHHH! 

After the show, we had pizza and then drove the two hours back to Boston before we sleeping. The next morning, we went home.

Hans and the gear headed west! On the second weekend of July, we reconvened in Denver and rode out to Boulder to play a birthday party in a very small room in the back of a restaurant. In spite of its size, this place sounded pretty damn good. I got the Africa solo right again, and on a wild guess, I swapped the cable that connects my saxophone to the PA--and I had no sax problems. Hmm. Anyway, things sounded good, I played great, and it felt like I'd redeemed myself.

For dinner, I had a salad, six bananas, a few handfuls of tortilla chips, and a warm chocolate cooke (the cookies were fresh and amazing). I had a bean burrito from Qdoba on the plane. Good times.

We drove to Aspen the next day for a gig at the Belly Up. Spectacular views along the way!

This is a weird place. The room is small (but a sell out is still a sell out!), and the people who come out are there because it's the thing to do, not because they necessarily want to see any particular band.  But whatever--no sax mic problems for two nights in a row, the altitude was difficult but not impossible, and the room sounded pretty good. And I got the Africa solo right.

Yeah, the altitude. My saxophones felt horrible! So dead, so tubby, so resistant. I guess if you're a sax player and you grow up in Colorado, you make equipment choices that help with all this. Bleah.

I passed up pizza for vegetable curry from a Thai place, which was really good, but a long walk away. There I was, racing back to the gig twenty-five minutes before start time with three cups of coconut milk in my stomach.

Onward we travel. Gig number three in Colorado was in Steamboat Springs, so we had quite a bit of riding in the van to get get there (around four hours).

Nearby wildfires made for a hazy sunset, but what a view! Also, the temperature at gig time was right about seventy degrees. It felt great. Even my saxophones felt better.

For social distancing, the audience was divided up onto little drum risers, which worked for most of the show. Towards the end, people gave up and a small gathering formed in front of the stage.

I skipped dinner (we had a late lunch of pizza somewhere along the way). No problems with the sax mic or Africa. I think I'm cured. Easy gig.

Monday morning, we got up super damn early and drove around four hours from Steamboat to the Denver airport, and flew home from there.

Did you know there's a gas shortage in Colorado? Hans does. He says they need truck drivers. This pump wasn't putting out whatever was left in the tank.

We next saw Hans at the Houston airport, where he picked us up to begin the weekend of gigs in Texas.

Up against Emo Night! Our crowd showed up, though--the emos were not as plentiful. So sad.

Not the greatest sounding room, but kind of on par with the rest of Houston. I missed dinner because I got a little lost while I was out for my pre gig run (also, running on a Friday afternoon in downtown Houston in mid July is TOUGH/STUPID!), so I made it through on the Qdoba burrito from the Atlanta airport, three bananas, and chips and salsa. There were probably a few handfuls of trail mix in there, too.

Pretty solid gig, and I was kind of relieved to have my saxophones feel like my horns again.

The next day's run was equally brutal. Lunch really hit the spot, though.

Across the plains of Texas we traveled, finally parking at Emo's in Austin. 

We had a good crowd, and it felt like they were listening. This place is pretty cool (the dressing room impossibly small, though), and they ordered food from a Thai place for us (I had vegetable curry again). 

We flew home the next morning, and I foolishly chose the early flight, which wrecked me for the rest of the day. Stoooopid. Getting up early to get home just isn't worth it.

Since the gigging has picked up significantly, I haven't made as many videos for social media. Here's the one I made for the Fourth of July.