Happy New Year, swimmers! "Lucky '07" lived up to the hype, as Lifeguard Nights had the best (and only) year we've ever had! We recorded 7 albums, got signed to Headshop Records, toured the West Coast, grew to an impressive 11 members (if everybody shows up), and finished off the year opening for our friends Wormburner and The Knockout Drops at the Bowery Ballroom! It was awesome...
...but now "Great '08" is here and it's already shaping up to be even better! We kicked off the year with what I thought was our best show ever, at Maxwell's in Hoboken. I was actually a little intimidated beforehand, much more so than at Bowery Ballroom, because of all the great shows I've seen there. But once we got up there it was the most fun I've ever had playing a show. The sound (at least from where I was) was awesome, the crowd was pretty lubed up and there was plenty of energy on stage. Unfortunately, Sean's car was vandalized by some punks who destroyed his ignition, and the Hoboken cops don't seem to have any promising leads. They even took the tape deck AND the Creedence. Fuckers.
In happier news, you can now download ALL SIX home-recorded Lifeguard Nights albums at www.thelifeguardband.com (thanks Dave Biskup). That's So Low, Doing Harm on Easy Street, After The Disasters, M, Calm Down, Chief! and So Lower, all available for FREE! So head on over there and download em, each one's better than the last!
PLUS, we're heading into the studio next week to lay down basic tracks on our 2ND STUDIO ALBUM! Yes, it deserves all caps. It's that exciting. We're thrilled to be recording at Retromedia in Red Bank again, and working with our favorite little buddy Adam Vaccarelli! We'll be approaching this album a little differently than the last one, which was mostly recorded live in the studio in one day. We're gonna take a little more time on this one, to really produce it and give it a much bigger sound. If all goes well, it'll have the charm of our home recordings mixed with the professional sound of the studio, and I can't wait to hear the results. I'll keep updating this site with pictures and videos and reports from the recording sessions as they happen, so check back often.
Finally, we've got a bunch of gigs in the Tri-State area booked in the coming months, and are hoping to make a journey through some southern states this spring, and head over to Europe in the late Summer/Fall. To keep up to date on all Lifeguard-related activity, head over to www.myspace.com/lifeguardnights and drop us a line so we know you're out there, all two of you. Thanks, safe swimming for now,
Vincent
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Lifeguard Nights on Lifeguard Nights: Lifeguards
Vincent Brue's "Medal of Valor" Acceptance Speech at the 2006 Lifeguard Awards.
West Coast Tour Blog, Day 10
Yes, the tour may have come to an end as far as rocking was concerned, but the party was still going strong. We Team A-holes had to return our Mercury Mariner (www.mercurymariner.com) to the airport at noon, but our flight wasn't until 9:15 PM. Team D-bag were all on earlier flights so we said farewell to them and headed straight for the bar.
That face pretty much says it all. It's hard to tell if Steve looks afraid of what is to come, if he's annoyed about what is to come, or if he's warning me to not do what is to come. Steve should have known better. After a couple hours, it was highway to the danger zone. I made some friends while watching football, one of whom, Herbert G. Farber, was a lawyer and offered to help me out if I ever got arrested in Seattle. If he had stuck around a little longer, and had I drank any more, his services might have been required in Las Vegas. Steve shot this video on his phone, while I was on a break from the bar.
Soon the Giants/Eagles game came on, and by that point I was sucking down scotch like the apocalypse was nigh. The Giants were dominating and I was pretty fired up, prompting three female Eagles fans to tell me to shut up. That didn't help the situation, and for the rest of the game I was screaming in their faces, as we sacked Donovan McNabb 13 times. I tried to get everyone to give Strahan a standing ovation when he broke L.T.'s sack record, but nobody seemed to care that much. I started smoking cigarettes in the bathroom after Super Dave (our bartender) told me it was cool. I'm pretty sure it wasn't cool. The next thing I know, I'm puking on the airplane at 6 in the morning as we're landing in New York. I can't quite recall boarding the flight in Vegas, or transferring flights in Denver, or many other things. Apparently I was slapping Steve around in the airport bar, and he didn't like that too much. But Team A stuck together and remained triumphant through it all.
That was that. Somehow we managed to go on tour for 10 days, and nobody got arrested or killed or laid, which was pretty shocking. Okay, it wasn't all that shocking that nobody got laid.
Next tour destination: Europe. Stay tuned.
That face pretty much says it all. It's hard to tell if Steve looks afraid of what is to come, if he's annoyed about what is to come, or if he's warning me to not do what is to come. Steve should have known better. After a couple hours, it was highway to the danger zone. I made some friends while watching football, one of whom, Herbert G. Farber, was a lawyer and offered to help me out if I ever got arrested in Seattle. If he had stuck around a little longer, and had I drank any more, his services might have been required in Las Vegas. Steve shot this video on his phone, while I was on a break from the bar.
Soon the Giants/Eagles game came on, and by that point I was sucking down scotch like the apocalypse was nigh. The Giants were dominating and I was pretty fired up, prompting three female Eagles fans to tell me to shut up. That didn't help the situation, and for the rest of the game I was screaming in their faces, as we sacked Donovan McNabb 13 times. I tried to get everyone to give Strahan a standing ovation when he broke L.T.'s sack record, but nobody seemed to care that much. I started smoking cigarettes in the bathroom after Super Dave (our bartender) told me it was cool. I'm pretty sure it wasn't cool. The next thing I know, I'm puking on the airplane at 6 in the morning as we're landing in New York. I can't quite recall boarding the flight in Vegas, or transferring flights in Denver, or many other things. Apparently I was slapping Steve around in the airport bar, and he didn't like that too much. But Team A stuck together and remained triumphant through it all.
That was that. Somehow we managed to go on tour for 10 days, and nobody got arrested or killed or laid, which was pretty shocking. Okay, it wasn't all that shocking that nobody got laid.
Next tour destination: Europe. Stay tuned.
West Coast Tour Blog, Day 9
Viva Las Vegas. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Vegas, baby, Vegas. And so forth. It wasn't easy mustering up the energy needed to do Vegas right on the last night of our tour. Steve resorted to smoking Red Bull right out of the can.
Along the way we stopped off to visit the Calico ghost town.
We made a bunch of new friends, but you can't see them.
Eventually we made it to Vegas, the Disneyland for delinquents.
We set up at Zia Records and played our final show of the tour. I couldn't bear the thought of donning the Elvis suit again, as it was most likely toxic and a public safety hazard at that point. It was all very anti-climactic. At first, Steve's red-bull-induced sugar rush gave the band lots of energy and had us all rocking pretty hard.
At one point, Steven even stood up and busted out a ten minute drum solo...
...but he crashed soon after.
A 14 year old girl bought our cd, and that made me happy.
Then the show was over, and our tour had come to an end, rock-wise. We all punched the sky and took a bow.
But the tour hadn't come to an end party-wise. We hit the strip and decided to put all the money we had made on tour (roughly $35,000) on black.
Naturally, we lost. I was pretty upset. Beams of light shot out of my head.
I gambled some more, and lost. At everything. Slots. Blackjack. Roulette. Craps. You name it, I lost at it. I lost so much, I didn't even have enough money left to chip in for the hookers and blow, so I went back to our hotel room and fell asleep.
Along the way we stopped off to visit the Calico ghost town.
We made a bunch of new friends, but you can't see them.
Eventually we made it to Vegas, the Disneyland for delinquents.
We set up at Zia Records and played our final show of the tour. I couldn't bear the thought of donning the Elvis suit again, as it was most likely toxic and a public safety hazard at that point. It was all very anti-climactic. At first, Steve's red-bull-induced sugar rush gave the band lots of energy and had us all rocking pretty hard.
At one point, Steven even stood up and busted out a ten minute drum solo...
...but he crashed soon after.
A 14 year old girl bought our cd, and that made me happy.
Then the show was over, and our tour had come to an end, rock-wise. We all punched the sky and took a bow.
But the tour hadn't come to an end party-wise. We hit the strip and decided to put all the money we had made on tour (roughly $35,000) on black.
Naturally, we lost. I was pretty upset. Beams of light shot out of my head.
I gambled some more, and lost. At everything. Slots. Blackjack. Roulette. Craps. You name it, I lost at it. I lost so much, I didn't even have enough money left to chip in for the hookers and blow, so I went back to our hotel room and fell asleep.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
West Coast Tour Blog, Day 8
I Love San Diego, now that's a song I could get behind. We bid farewell to LA and headed on down the 5, but not before a crackhead accused me of trying to steal his (her?) rusty old bike outside a bodega in Santa Monica. Silly crackhead. Who wants a rusty old bike when you've got a MERCURY FUCKING MARINER? (www.mercurymariner.com)
I led the charge from the heart of darkness right into my old summer of 2000 stomping grounds, the whale's vagina.
First order of business, as usual, was downloading porn.
Then it was off to my favorite place in the entire world, the cliffs of La Jolla.
It was pretty awesome.
Some crazy people were hang-gliding over the cliffs, which looks like tons of fun if you have enormous testicles.
We pushed John off the cliff, and he was kind enough to take a photo of Steve and Drew as he went down.
Drew gazed off into the distance, wondering if there might be a glory hole nearby.
Steve and I embraced, happy to have survived the long journey.
Boris and I sat in silence for a while, drinking it all in. There was a lot to drink, and it was delicious, like beer-flavored beer.
I took one last look around and said goodbye to the cliffs, in my inside voice.
We headed downtown and walked along the beach for a while.
Apparently John had landed safely, and managed to find a glory hole.
Naturally, Drew was quite jealous.
We paid a brief visit to our La Jolla branch...
...then stole their Jeep and did a few donuts in the sand. Safely, of course.
Dusk arrived, and it was time for us to go to work.
The gig was at a place called Scolari's Office in downtown San Diego. When we arrived we met another myspace fan/friend, whose name escapes me. He bought us some shots and was definitely looking to party. Also looking to party: a few Navy guys who heckled us a bit at first, but warmed up to us (possibly thanks to "In The Navy Now") and ended up buying us shots as well. It was a pretty fun show and the crowd seemed to be into it. Afterwards, John, Drew (who was channeling Nikki Sixx at this point) and Mike all went out with our myspace buddy to party like the '86 Mets, while Boris, Steve and I went for a nighttime stroll along the beach. It was pleasant and gave us a chance to reflect. The tour was coming to a close and I didn't quite know how to feel about it. It had been awesome, exhausting, inspiring, disappointing, invigorating, depressing, wild, confusing and fun, all at the same time. I was fried. I think we all were.
I led the charge from the heart of darkness right into my old summer of 2000 stomping grounds, the whale's vagina.
First order of business, as usual, was downloading porn.
Then it was off to my favorite place in the entire world, the cliffs of La Jolla.
It was pretty awesome.
Some crazy people were hang-gliding over the cliffs, which looks like tons of fun if you have enormous testicles.
We pushed John off the cliff, and he was kind enough to take a photo of Steve and Drew as he went down.
Drew gazed off into the distance, wondering if there might be a glory hole nearby.
Steve and I embraced, happy to have survived the long journey.
Boris and I sat in silence for a while, drinking it all in. There was a lot to drink, and it was delicious, like beer-flavored beer.
I took one last look around and said goodbye to the cliffs, in my inside voice.
We headed downtown and walked along the beach for a while.
Apparently John had landed safely, and managed to find a glory hole.
Naturally, Drew was quite jealous.
We paid a brief visit to our La Jolla branch...
...then stole their Jeep and did a few donuts in the sand. Safely, of course.
Dusk arrived, and it was time for us to go to work.
The gig was at a place called Scolari's Office in downtown San Diego. When we arrived we met another myspace fan/friend, whose name escapes me. He bought us some shots and was definitely looking to party. Also looking to party: a few Navy guys who heckled us a bit at first, but warmed up to us (possibly thanks to "In The Navy Now") and ended up buying us shots as well. It was a pretty fun show and the crowd seemed to be into it. Afterwards, John, Drew (who was channeling Nikki Sixx at this point) and Mike all went out with our myspace buddy to party like the '86 Mets, while Boris, Steve and I went for a nighttime stroll along the beach. It was pleasant and gave us a chance to reflect. The tour was coming to a close and I didn't quite know how to feel about it. It had been awesome, exhausting, inspiring, disappointing, invigorating, depressing, wild, confusing and fun, all at the same time. I was fried. I think we all were.
West Coast Tour Blog, Day 7
Dawn. A new day. A new lease on life. A chance to do some good for society. A chance to make our dreams come true. A chance to do laundry. Thankfully we did all of those, starting with the laundry. After that, we walked to the beach to do a little volunteer lifeguarding.
Sure enough, we soon heard the cries of a small boy drowning in the ocean, and we rushed to save him. Mike was first to the scene.
I followed right behind him in hot pursuit.
Unfortunately, he was too quick for me, and I lost him.
The boy drowned. Frustrated, I took a seat in the sand and decided I could use a little color, and a long nap.
Before we left, we realized we had been lying next to a giant shit tank that was unloading waste onto the beach, which, as the big sign said, was extremely toxic and dangerous. I Love LA!
We returned to Steve and Kate's and were adopted by Phil (of The Grommits and Stop, Revolt fame) and Abby (of Phil's girlfriend, and Third Watch guest-star fame), and went out for lunch and some drinks. We all had a good time talking about "gear" and that time I crapped in my pants in my Elvis suit. They invited us to a birthday party at a bookstore nearby, and the birthday boy was an 80 year-old doctor who once sewed a man's penis back together. We certainly couldn't say no to that, so we got all dolled up and headed on out. Mike was thrilled to be hanging out with a B-list movie actress.
Phil posed next to his favorite album, Woody Woodbury's, "First Annual Message From The President Of The BOOZE IS THE ONLY ANSWER CLUB"
Unfortunately we had to leave the party to go to our gig at The Gig in West Hollywood.
The Gig was a lot like the old Continental in NYC, a big black rectangle, however, the Continental never made us buy tickets beforehand, never made us sign a ten page contract, and instead of 5 shots of anything for 10 bucks, it was 5 shots of anything for 50 bucks. I Love LA! However, the stage did have a curtain, so I guess it all evens out. We planned on playing "The Church of Song" start to finish, but had to skip a couple songs towards the end due to time constraints (as per Article XI of our contract). I was also hoping to perform Officer Bill with honorary lifeguard and SJSLCB co-founder Steve, but we didn't have time for that either. John borrowed Phil's keytar though (thanks Phil), which provided some entertainment. The entire show was videotaped and can be seen by cutting and pasting the link below into your browser.
http://www.liveatthegig.com/gig/asx/video_browser_frame.php?video_id=1545
My guitar is way too loud, and crappy, and you can't hear the drums and bass really, so that sucks. It was fun though, and once again a bunch of friends showed up and we had a good time. Then I went back to Steve's place and puked. The usual.
"you pretty little town, you sad flower in the sand"--deconstruction
Sure enough, we soon heard the cries of a small boy drowning in the ocean, and we rushed to save him. Mike was first to the scene.
I followed right behind him in hot pursuit.
Unfortunately, he was too quick for me, and I lost him.
The boy drowned. Frustrated, I took a seat in the sand and decided I could use a little color, and a long nap.
Before we left, we realized we had been lying next to a giant shit tank that was unloading waste onto the beach, which, as the big sign said, was extremely toxic and dangerous. I Love LA!
We returned to Steve and Kate's and were adopted by Phil (of The Grommits and Stop, Revolt fame) and Abby (of Phil's girlfriend, and Third Watch guest-star fame), and went out for lunch and some drinks. We all had a good time talking about "gear" and that time I crapped in my pants in my Elvis suit. They invited us to a birthday party at a bookstore nearby, and the birthday boy was an 80 year-old doctor who once sewed a man's penis back together. We certainly couldn't say no to that, so we got all dolled up and headed on out. Mike was thrilled to be hanging out with a B-list movie actress.
Phil posed next to his favorite album, Woody Woodbury's, "First Annual Message From The President Of The BOOZE IS THE ONLY ANSWER CLUB"
Unfortunately we had to leave the party to go to our gig at The Gig in West Hollywood.
The Gig was a lot like the old Continental in NYC, a big black rectangle, however, the Continental never made us buy tickets beforehand, never made us sign a ten page contract, and instead of 5 shots of anything for 10 bucks, it was 5 shots of anything for 50 bucks. I Love LA! However, the stage did have a curtain, so I guess it all evens out. We planned on playing "The Church of Song" start to finish, but had to skip a couple songs towards the end due to time constraints (as per Article XI of our contract). I was also hoping to perform Officer Bill with honorary lifeguard and SJSLCB co-founder Steve, but we didn't have time for that either. John borrowed Phil's keytar though (thanks Phil), which provided some entertainment. The entire show was videotaped and can be seen by cutting and pasting the link below into your browser.
http://www.liveatthegig.com/gig/asx/video_browser_frame.php?video_id=1545
My guitar is way too loud, and crappy, and you can't hear the drums and bass really, so that sucks. It was fun though, and once again a bunch of friends showed up and we had a good time. Then I went back to Steve's place and puked. The usual.
"you pretty little town, you sad flower in the sand"--deconstruction
Friday, January 11, 2008
West Coast Tour Blog, Day 6
Who was it that wrote "I Love LA"? Oh right, Randy Newman. He's an idiot. LA freaks me out. Not in the same way that Pennsylvania does, where I feel like there might be a Klan rally going on around every corner, but pretty similar. As we drove down the 5, I felt like Marlow venturing into the heart of darkness. Nevertheless, we pressed on and arrived at the Holiday Inn in Pasadena at the golden hour for our gig at Mr. T's Bowl.
Proud papa Mike Saccento met us at our hotel and took us to the Pie 'n Burger for dinner, which was delicious. Steve and Drew's rowdy enthusiasm nearly got us kicked out of the place.
Then it was off to Mr. T's Bowl, a former bowling alley that now serves as a laid-back, dive-y music venue. That said, it was right up our alley (wah wah), except for the fact that beers and shots were about 7 bucks apiece, even for the cool people in the band. How's a sucka supposed to get his drink on with prices like that? Anyway, a whole bunch of our friends came out and it was fun meeting up with everybody, such as myspace friend/fan, Ms. Christie, who brought out some friends and took some photos, and Kieran from Bar 9 (our favorite bar in NYC)who happened to be in LA at the time. The show was good and we stuck around for a while taking shots of Absinthe, which tasted like liquid ass and didn't even make us hallucinate. We were all pretty exhausted at this point, and my Elvis suit was starting to smell like a dead body. Thankfully, we had another gig in LA the next night, so John, Mike and I went back to our friend Steve and Kate's place, while the newly formed Team C-Section (Boro, Drew and Steve) went back to the hotel, to get some much needed rest.
Proud papa Mike Saccento met us at our hotel and took us to the Pie 'n Burger for dinner, which was delicious. Steve and Drew's rowdy enthusiasm nearly got us kicked out of the place.
Then it was off to Mr. T's Bowl, a former bowling alley that now serves as a laid-back, dive-y music venue. That said, it was right up our alley (wah wah), except for the fact that beers and shots were about 7 bucks apiece, even for the cool people in the band. How's a sucka supposed to get his drink on with prices like that? Anyway, a whole bunch of our friends came out and it was fun meeting up with everybody, such as myspace friend/fan, Ms. Christie, who brought out some friends and took some photos, and Kieran from Bar 9 (our favorite bar in NYC)who happened to be in LA at the time. The show was good and we stuck around for a while taking shots of Absinthe, which tasted like liquid ass and didn't even make us hallucinate. We were all pretty exhausted at this point, and my Elvis suit was starting to smell like a dead body. Thankfully, we had another gig in LA the next night, so John, Mike and I went back to our friend Steve and Kate's place, while the newly formed Team C-Section (Boro, Drew and Steve) went back to the hotel, to get some much needed rest.
West Coast Tour Blog, Day 5
I left my heart in San Francisco a couple years ago, so we decided to go looking for it.
John wandered off to see if it was at a happy ending massage parlor, while the rest of us searched for it in Golden Gate Park.
It wasn't there. John didn't have any luck either, so he decided to come meet us at Golden Gate Park. However, we left and met up with Steve and Jamie (who had parted ways with us after the gig in Sacramento) and headed up to "hippie hill," as it is appropriately called.
As we walked up the hill we were serenaded by Future John Dorocki, an old man sitting under a tree playing weird ambient music on a synthesizer. We all had a good laugh at John's expense, especially since he was on his way to meet us at Golden Gate Park, and we weren't there.
It was quite a lovely day outside, and we baked in the hot sun. I soon freaked out when an enormous, scary-looking dog started heading up the hill straight for me in slow motion. I was quite certain it was going to kill me. The owner approached and told us that he wanted to go hang out with his buddies, but that their dog and his don't get along, so he handed me the leash and told me to watch his dog for a while. I cannot accurately convey the terror and bewilderment I felt at the time, so let me just say that I'm glad I hadn't eaten breakfast, or I most certainly would have shat myself. I handed the leash off to Jamie and cautiously backed away from the demon spawn. John called and said he was coming to meet us at hippie hill, so we decided to venture off to Amoeba records, through an obstacle course of burned-out zombies, dealers and freaks. "It's a beautiful day out here, isn't it?" some hippie girl asked us along the way, and that might have scared me even more than the dog. Hippies have always scared the shit out of me, much in the same way that some people are terrified of clowns. I'm all for peace and love, but please get your head out of your asses, hippies.
Anyhow, we made it to Amoeba records, and wandered around like mental patients at the zoo for an hour or so. Somehow I managed to find a few good cds for cheap, Barry Black (a mostly instrumental cd by Eric Bachmann), Palace Music, and Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks. John called again and we decided that we should probably meet up with him at some point, so we picked him up on the street somewhere. At this point we were listening to Barry Black and it was blowing my mind like a billion dollar hooker. Best two bucks I ever spent. We headed for the beach, where John started wandering off again.
Unfortunately, he came back.
"Say Mike, that was pretty lame was John just did right there," Steve said.
"You mean that thing where he charged right through us and struck a really dumb pose?" Mike asked.
"Yeah. Let's drown him," Steve replied.
"Okay," said Mike.
And so they did. Boris looked on, visibly upset, so I walked over to console him. I explained to him that this was necessary for the good of the band, and ultimately for the best.
Boris didn't take it very well, and weeped for his fallen Team D-bagger.
We decided it would be best to photograph this sign, in case anyone investigated John's disappearance, so we could claim it must have been an accident.
We headed back to the hotel, and Mike parked the car at a meter but didn't have any change. "Does it take nickles?" Boris asked. "Dick Nickles?" I replied, confused, "Who's Dick Nickles?" "Dick Nickles?" Boris asked, equally confused. "Dick Nickles," I said. This went on for a while, and earned Boris the new nickname of Dick Nickles. Then we went out for Chinese food. Eventually the sun set, and it was time to do what the Americans call "rock and roll."
Epic Arts was an interesting venue, as it was basically a Victorian house that had been converted into an art space, with the bands playing in the living room. It was a pretty hot place, and I mean that literally, as there was very little ventilation and the manager baking brownies didn't help the situation. But lifeguards can take the heat.
Before the show I was walking around and started talking to some dude. I asked him if he worked at Epic Arts, he said no. I asked him if he was in the other band, he said no. I asked him if he was there to see the other band, and he said no, that he was friends with us on myspace and was there to see us. I thought he was joking, but apparently he was serious. I was rendered speechless. I mean, that's what you hope for when you go on tour, but that was the first time it ever happened to me. Hell, my old band The Hungry Housewives went on tour for a month and we didn't meet any fans. Or make any fans. In fact I think it's safe to say we only made enemies. But anyway, his name was Mark and I give him what the kids call "mad props." Another myspace buddy showed up, Diane from the band Pete's Dragon, and it was great to finally meet her as well. Also in attendance were Mark Antinoro, Doust, and the infamous Nick Oliver, who I turned the tide on and preemptively started heckling.
It was a fun show. As the band we played with, Leilujh, wrote on their website,
"Lifeguard Nights is an incredibly likeable band from New York City who were great fun to watch. The highlight of their set had to have been the drummer telling their super-stoned keyboard player 'Man, you gotta stop doing that,' when the keyboard player sat down on the couch, took off his shoes, and started crawling around and beating on the drums."
The keyboard player, of course, was John Dorocki, who crawled out of the ocean like Swamp Thing, just to disrupt our set. Like Seagal, he's hard to kill, marked for death and above the law. Out for justice and half past dead on deadly ground. He's a glimmer man, that one. A mercenary for justice, out of reach and into the sun. The prince of pistols, you might say.
I broke my "no scotch rule" during this show, and downing a whole pint didn't cool the place off at all. I was forced to disrobe.
Afterwards, I remembered why I instituted a "no scotch rule" in the first place, when I got back to the hotel and proceeded to vomit every twenty minutes for 8 hours straight. Good times.
Oh, and we never found my heart.
Waah.
John wandered off to see if it was at a happy ending massage parlor, while the rest of us searched for it in Golden Gate Park.
It wasn't there. John didn't have any luck either, so he decided to come meet us at Golden Gate Park. However, we left and met up with Steve and Jamie (who had parted ways with us after the gig in Sacramento) and headed up to "hippie hill," as it is appropriately called.
As we walked up the hill we were serenaded by Future John Dorocki, an old man sitting under a tree playing weird ambient music on a synthesizer. We all had a good laugh at John's expense, especially since he was on his way to meet us at Golden Gate Park, and we weren't there.
It was quite a lovely day outside, and we baked in the hot sun. I soon freaked out when an enormous, scary-looking dog started heading up the hill straight for me in slow motion. I was quite certain it was going to kill me. The owner approached and told us that he wanted to go hang out with his buddies, but that their dog and his don't get along, so he handed me the leash and told me to watch his dog for a while. I cannot accurately convey the terror and bewilderment I felt at the time, so let me just say that I'm glad I hadn't eaten breakfast, or I most certainly would have shat myself. I handed the leash off to Jamie and cautiously backed away from the demon spawn. John called and said he was coming to meet us at hippie hill, so we decided to venture off to Amoeba records, through an obstacle course of burned-out zombies, dealers and freaks. "It's a beautiful day out here, isn't it?" some hippie girl asked us along the way, and that might have scared me even more than the dog. Hippies have always scared the shit out of me, much in the same way that some people are terrified of clowns. I'm all for peace and love, but please get your head out of your asses, hippies.
Anyhow, we made it to Amoeba records, and wandered around like mental patients at the zoo for an hour or so. Somehow I managed to find a few good cds for cheap, Barry Black (a mostly instrumental cd by Eric Bachmann), Palace Music, and Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks. John called again and we decided that we should probably meet up with him at some point, so we picked him up on the street somewhere. At this point we were listening to Barry Black and it was blowing my mind like a billion dollar hooker. Best two bucks I ever spent. We headed for the beach, where John started wandering off again.
Unfortunately, he came back.
"Say Mike, that was pretty lame was John just did right there," Steve said.
"You mean that thing where he charged right through us and struck a really dumb pose?" Mike asked.
"Yeah. Let's drown him," Steve replied.
"Okay," said Mike.
And so they did. Boris looked on, visibly upset, so I walked over to console him. I explained to him that this was necessary for the good of the band, and ultimately for the best.
Boris didn't take it very well, and weeped for his fallen Team D-bagger.
We decided it would be best to photograph this sign, in case anyone investigated John's disappearance, so we could claim it must have been an accident.
We headed back to the hotel, and Mike parked the car at a meter but didn't have any change. "Does it take nickles?" Boris asked. "Dick Nickles?" I replied, confused, "Who's Dick Nickles?" "Dick Nickles?" Boris asked, equally confused. "Dick Nickles," I said. This went on for a while, and earned Boris the new nickname of Dick Nickles. Then we went out for Chinese food. Eventually the sun set, and it was time to do what the Americans call "rock and roll."
Epic Arts was an interesting venue, as it was basically a Victorian house that had been converted into an art space, with the bands playing in the living room. It was a pretty hot place, and I mean that literally, as there was very little ventilation and the manager baking brownies didn't help the situation. But lifeguards can take the heat.
Before the show I was walking around and started talking to some dude. I asked him if he worked at Epic Arts, he said no. I asked him if he was in the other band, he said no. I asked him if he was there to see the other band, and he said no, that he was friends with us on myspace and was there to see us. I thought he was joking, but apparently he was serious. I was rendered speechless. I mean, that's what you hope for when you go on tour, but that was the first time it ever happened to me. Hell, my old band The Hungry Housewives went on tour for a month and we didn't meet any fans. Or make any fans. In fact I think it's safe to say we only made enemies. But anyway, his name was Mark and I give him what the kids call "mad props." Another myspace buddy showed up, Diane from the band Pete's Dragon, and it was great to finally meet her as well. Also in attendance were Mark Antinoro, Doust, and the infamous Nick Oliver, who I turned the tide on and preemptively started heckling.
It was a fun show. As the band we played with, Leilujh, wrote on their website,
"Lifeguard Nights is an incredibly likeable band from New York City who were great fun to watch. The highlight of their set had to have been the drummer telling their super-stoned keyboard player 'Man, you gotta stop doing that,' when the keyboard player sat down on the couch, took off his shoes, and started crawling around and beating on the drums."
The keyboard player, of course, was John Dorocki, who crawled out of the ocean like Swamp Thing, just to disrupt our set. Like Seagal, he's hard to kill, marked for death and above the law. Out for justice and half past dead on deadly ground. He's a glimmer man, that one. A mercenary for justice, out of reach and into the sun. The prince of pistols, you might say.
I broke my "no scotch rule" during this show, and downing a whole pint didn't cool the place off at all. I was forced to disrobe.
Afterwards, I remembered why I instituted a "no scotch rule" in the first place, when I got back to the hotel and proceeded to vomit every twenty minutes for 8 hours straight. Good times.
Oh, and we never found my heart.
Waah.
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