Chavez Tour Reportage

TOUR REPORT #1 11/6/96

Okay... here's the first of our daily reports from the Chavez tour. So, Patrick, don't be a weenie and please share this with the whole office.

Last night, Washington, D.C., was filled with equal parts evil nerd and strangely mod suburban-former-straight-edger. About 75 of 'em. The club owners were surprised at the turnout. We played at the Black Cat. In order to hold our brand of the Good Lord's rock 'n' roll, they had to curtain off two-thirds of the room. We played in the third by the pool tables.

• Sold 12 CDs and 10 shirts.
• Scott thought the Capitol Building was the White House.
• Waffle House was quite good.
• Virtually no visible signs of an election of the world's most powerful office, except that Ian McKaye was not in attendance at the show. Although Ian Svenonius was.

Give everyone our love.

And give us press to do on the road.

TOUR REPORT #2 11/7/96

We missed the curtain last night. We played at Cat's Cradle in Chapel Hill, the home of powder blue-wearing, deeply sanctimonious, "we live in the Atlanta of North Carolina" UNC fans. The place can hold mmmm... twelve hundred or so. The fifty that attended seemed to like us alright. One kid with a combination mohawk/combover moshed by himself. I thought it was Mac from that band Burn but then I found out he was on tour. Must've been someone from Mammoth.

Oh yeah. We found the raunchiest BBQ place in Richmond, as recommended by locals. Bill's Bar-B-Que. Heavy, heavy, heavy. Minced pork with a side of apples. A bit of a dud, actually. Although I DID taste something I never had before: J.P. got a grape lime-ade, made with real grape soda.

Scott ordered a cheeseburger.

Off to Atlanta.

TOUR REPORT #3 11/9/96

We played at Lucy's Record Shop, where our name was prominently misspelled in the local paper (for the third time this tour). If all the misspellings were the same we'd change our name.

The crowd ranged anywhere from 20 to 24. I couldn't tell. One guy got kicked out 'cause he ripped down the crepe paper adorning the concert hall... I mean record store.

We went out for my birthday and had the best food so far... a pork chop sandwich at Robert's... one of the best bar's I've ever attended.

A country band with a female drummer sang "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to happy birthday, happy birthday to you."

Aw, shucks.

Scott tried to talk to a waitress by dropping Porter Wagoner's name at my insistence. For future reference, DON'T try it. It doesn't work.

TOUR REPORT #4 11/11/96

The latest from our most wired band:

Saw William Faulkner's home here in Oxford, Mississippi. Pretty amazing. We then went to Oxford's other famous structure--Proud Larry's--to play. I repeat: PROUD LARRY'S. Show went okay. We opened for Phat Possum's the Neckbones.

Afterward, we partied at Proud Frank's (no relation). I knew this guy was proud because he had a full collection of Cheers on tape, with hand-drawn logos on the spines.

Scott had fun.

TOUR REPORT #5 11/12/96

From the Chavez mobile internet module:

We rolled into Houston carrying five of the biggest hangovers known to man. We played at Emo's to about 35 people, most of whom seemed to like the show. The local version of New York Press wrote a nice short piece about us. At least I think it was us. Four out of the five sentences referred to our brand of "Latin-influenced rock." Yes, it was us. I saw our picture.

At the end of the performance--in a program of unplanned pyrotechnics--Matt's amp blew up. Actually, I exaggerate. It died in a more farting-to-death kind of way. Not unlike the fate I thought awaited us when we piled into the van in New Orleans.

TOUR REPORT #7 11/17/96

Austin: The best show yet. Glorium cancelled supposedly because a guy in the band got a job doing data entry for his uncle in D.C. So, the ultimate angry-nerd, Slint-influenced, proto-fusion band played. They were called Paul Newman. Watching them made us realize that it was, indeed, David Kleiler who invented the term math rock. Then we played. I'd say 100 or so goateed/safety-hawked/liberal-art-degree-holding Austinites enjoyed the show. One weirdo kept saying "Fuck yeah!" and another repeatedly threw lit smoke bombs on stage, one of which made James lose his place... one of the smoke bombs, that is. Scott sneezed. We made $100 bucks and ate Kreuz's the next day.

San Antonio: We pull into a remarkably cool club called the Green Onion. The jukebox was the best I've ever seen and, believe me, San Antonio is not known for its taste in music (except, of course, for Freddy Fender and the Nuge). What the hell's going on? Suddenly, in walks a trollish-looking, Mexican-American guy clearly on coke and says "Yo, Clay." It was Rudy Abad, a guy I went to elementary school with. Turns out it was his club. We caught up. I hadn't heard anything about him since Roland Verilla in my ninth grade health class told me that Rudy drove better stoned.

Rudy started the club a couple of years ago with his band Sons of Hercules and it's pretty great. I said that this was a cool off-shoot of being in a band. He said, "Hell, yeah! Before this, I was in a heavy metal band for, like, eight years."

The show was excellent. My dad loved it. We ate enchiladas at three in the morning and then ran out of gas on the way home. Oh, San Antonio. Next stop: LA. Should take us two full days driving nonstop. Scott's plane arrived about an hour ago.

TOUR REPORT #8 11/21/96

San Diego: Okay. The club was located right in the heart of San Diego's most fascinating--visually, at least--section. It was hard not to be taken in by its intensity. Indeed, if one stood just outside the Casbah's front door, one could experience it in full: planes, barely fifty feet above, hurtling toward their landings. See, the airport (the most dangerous in the country, we heard) was just one block over and every seven or eight minutes of conversation was interrupted by a screaming hunk of metal passing by at about 200 miles an hour. So loud,it made my testes ascend. Oh yeah, eight people, not including the other bands and friends of Chavez, watched us. That made my testes ascend even further. Char's mom bought two shirts. Even Scotty was boring in Insane Diego.

LA: Definitely the best show of the tour. Dave Kleiler had a pre-show cocktail party debuting his new Silverlake apartment... butterfly lawn chairs, tamales, and all. We all left very drunk and burping. Spaceland was filled with LA's finest Dodge Dart drivers and (as always) evil nerds. Fuck were quite good. We broke into points. Sold lots of stuff. A reconstructed Courtney Love--chaperoned by Janet Bilig--arrived too late. They left in a hurry to rendezvous with the Lemonheads at the Viper Room. Dave went back home.

TOUR REPORT #9 11/25/96

In LA, we were rock stars for a night. The next night (Nov. 19) made it clear we are guys who play in a band the rest of the time. Jabberjaw was perfect for Fuck (now my favorite band) 'cause it was a small concrete room with almost no PA. It wasn't so good for us because... well, 'cause it was a small concrete room with almost no PA. Scotty's genius friend Peter Engolia showed up. Actually, he was the inspiration for our song "Ever Overpsyched." He's Connie Stevens' nephew, a Porsche-driving pot dealer, looks like Eric Estrada and is a complete genius who thinks the Marsh isn't into girls anymore. He invented the name the Marsh, for Christ's sake. I don't think he liked the show as he played Gallaga. Sigh. To live and die in LA.