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.

West Coast Tour Blog, Day 4

We all woke up pretty well hungover after the birthday festivities, with a long drive to Sacramento ahead of us, so that was not awesome. Also not awesome: the fact that we had to head inland and leave the coastline and the redwoods behind, so we decided to park our matching Mercury Mariners (www.mercurymariner.com) for one last stroll through nature. Yeah that's right, Mercury Mariners (www.mercurymariner.com). While all the hip indie bands are traveling around with their environmentally friendly bio-diesel vehicles, we rented two SUV's. Take that, hipsters. Take that, Earth, you old bastard.



Boris and I found a nice place to have a discussion on the global economy as it relates to foreign policy and the strong-arm tactics employed by the American dictatorship. At least I think that's what we talked about. It was either that or poo. Maybe it was poo. I can't remember.



Drew Brady makes his first appearance in the tour blog in this next photo, as he and I answer the age old existential question, "If a tree falls in the forest, does anybody give a shit?" Meanwhile, Mike Steve and Boris were all distracted by a hungry bear that was wandering towards us in search of food.



Bravely, Mike Biskup beat off the bear with a stick. Hmmm...there's gotta be a better way to say that.



Before we left, Steve swore that he could rip a tree in half with his mind if he concentrated hard enough. We didn't believe him, so he set out to prove us wrong.



At first we thought he was just constipated, and then this happened.



We were pretty fucking blown away by the power of Steve's mind. Remember that in case you're thinking of crossing him. Anyhow, we hit the road and headed for Sacramento. Team D-Bag lived up to their name by giving us the scenic route directions, while they stopped off at a Vineyard and took the direct route.



The "scenic route", by the way, was a one-lane road under construction, which had us stopped dead for a good 45 minutes while we waited for the west-bound cars to pass. Thanks to the scenic route, Mike Biskup nearly died of starvation, leaving me to nurse him back to health at the venue.



Then we played pool. Everybody won.



As for the show...um...I'm not gonna lie to ya, Sacramento on a Monday night? Not all that wild. The stage was nice and big though.



The highlight of the show was when Steve used his mind powers to make his toms disappear.



Then we went to bed.

West Coast Tour Blog, Day 3

After waking up with a case of heartburn that would probably kill Tommy Lasorda, we packed up and headed on out on a long, scenic drive to Arcata, California. Steve took the wheel in one hand and lit up a cigarette in the other, a modern day lone ranger.



I sat shotgun, his very own Tonto. Most of the drive looked like this.



Until Steve downed his 8th beer. And then it looked more like this.



Eventually we hit the Redwoods (not literally, thankfully) and pulled over to fondle some nature. Birthday boy Mike Biskup was especially aroused, and started giving the business to one of the poor trees.





As an avid outdoorsman and friend of all living things, I couldn't help but take offense to Mike's unbridled savagery, even if it was birthday.



I needed to teach Mike a lesson, and what better way than giving him a taste of his own medicine?



Mike cried a little, but I think he liked it. Afterwards, we cuddled, and I think he gained a newfound respect for nature, as you can see from the look on his face.



After this brief lesson in nature and sodomy, we got back in the car and headed for the California coast. I was soon informed via text message that the Giants, at one point down 17-3 to the Washington Redskins, had come back to win the game with a goal line stand. And then we saw this...



and this...



...and for a good twenty minutes or so, I believed that God didn't hate me. We parked the car at a tiny beach along the way, so Mike could have lunch, and everyone else could take photos of each other's penises. It was a good time.





"What do you say, Vino?" Boris inquired.



"I say I think I smell weed," I said, "Let's follow this scent, and see where it leads."



And so we did. Not surprisingly, it led us directly to Muddy's Hot Cup, the quaint little venue in Humboldt County at which we were playing at that evening. We met Kate, the manager of the place, who was awesome. Here she is wearing our limited edition "Jay Biskup Thinks You're An Asshole" t-shirt, with John and Mike outside the bar.



Kate was not the only awesome Arcata-ian. A magician named Shantaram, who owned the liquor store across the street, impressed us all by making a free bottle of Ketel One appear. We gratefully thanked him, and performed a little magic trick ourselves by making the vodka disappear. Shortly thereafter, I wound up with a bra on my head.



One guy, the only Arcata-ian who was not awesome, demanded that I give him the bra, claiming it was his ex-girlfriend's. I respectfully declined to comply with his wishes, as this was the first under-garment I have ever received while performing, and it smelled pretty. We played for quite a while and it was a fun mess of a time. I don't know happened. Band members were coming and going from the stage every few minutes, audience members were playing with the band, and at one point I think I was talking in between songs for about twenty minutes straight (about what, I do not recall). Suffice it to say I think we all had a pretty strong contact high, some of us from just breathing in the Arcata air, some of us from putting our lips on joints and breathing in the sweet marijuana smoke. We made some great new friends, like these people....



...and these people, who were actually lifeguards. Respect.



Good times were had by all. It certainly wasn't our most well-attended show, and definitely not our best performance, but undoubtedly the most fun show of the trip. Many thanks to Kate and all the fine people of Arcata, except that one guy who was a douche.

West Coast Tour Blog, Day 2

After waking up with a case of heartburn that would make Tommy Lasorda proud, I stumbled down to meet Drew and Boris at the hotel cafe for breakfast. I was hoping it was a complimentary breakfast, but alas, it was not. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it was an insulting breakfast. The waiter was about as friendly as Stalin, the coffee should have been ashamed of itself (especially in Seattle), and the prices seemed like they were set in the distant future after a serious rise in inflation. But you know me, I don't like to complain....

As we packed up our crap, Mike's keen eye (with the aid of Steve's 2-nocs) managed to spy a bunch of junkies hanging out on the street corner below. We managed to catch one lucky fellow actually jamming a needle into his arm, while one of his buddies stumbled around trying to pull up his pants for about 10 minutes. Unfortunately, none of the postcards in the hotel gift shop depicted such a beautiful scene, so I bought one of the Space Needle instead. Close enough.

We waved bye bye to Seattle...



...and hello to Portland, where I ruined Steve's beautiful nature shot of two pigeons crapping on a water fountain by walking into frame.



Later in the day, Mike Biskup was reunited with his birth family.



After those heartwarming moments, we decided to celebrate by heading over to the venue we were playing at that night, The Red Room, to check it out. As we pulled into the parking lot, we learned that beer had called to say it missed us, which was great news!



"Coincidentally," Mike said, "I miss beer."



We all laughed. Especially Steve, who giggled like a sissy.



It always gets me hot when Steve giggles like a sissy, so I ran over and gave him a licking.



Boris got a little jealous of Team A-Hole's sexual chemistry, and invited Team D-Bag's John Dorocki over to give him a licking of his own.



John seemed to like the idea.



After all the licking, we reunited with our old friend beer, and played a show too. It was fun. Unfortunately, my plans to reunite with my old high school buddy and secret society FlexGrip member Pat Hayden fell through, when he didn't show up. After a number of $1 mystery shots (which may or may not have been rat poison), we headed back to Flirt's Lounge at the Holiday Inn, where a wedding reception was taking place. The spirit of Elvis (with a little help from those $1 mystery shots) took control of my body.



In all the excitement, I'm quite certain I wet myself. I ran upstairs, ordered another late night pizza, blew a couple lines of parmesan cheese, and called it a night.

West Coast Tour Blog, Day 1

Friday, September 21st

We arrived safely at The Crowne Royale Hotel in Seattle, shortly after our security team beat off thousands of fans clamoring for our flesh and autographs. Hmmm...there's gotta be a better way to say that.



We all went out to eat at some Irish place. Boris and Drew had some coddle. I had some kind of meat pasty (and a g-string). It was tasty. Mike and I went home to get our beauty rest for the gig while Steve, John and Boris investigated a crime scene.



After some keen detective work, Boris happened upon a clue.



John managed to snap a photo of the culprit before he got away.



He looked a little bit like this.



"Holy shit. I know that fucker," Steve said.



Steve phoned the local authorities immediately, as any good drummer would.



As the perp was led away by the authorities, Steve wagged his tongue at him and gave him the old "nana nana poo poo" but in a really manly, sexy way.



It was a great day for justice!

Later that night, we played a show at Jules Maes Saloon in the Georgetown section of Washington. It was a pretty cool bar and their tater tots were like fried chunks of God's nipples. Mysterious Chocolate opened up for us, got down on all fours and blew our minds. Mikiech, their singer, would put Paula Abdul to shame, and not because of his drinking and drug abuse. Nay, it was his dancing. That boy can cut up a rug like O.J., if O.J. were to mistake a rug for his ex-wife and her lover. (Apologies to Steve, who is among the 4 people left who still think O.J. is innocent.)

Then we took the stage and played a fun set with our new instruments, which we had bought that day from Fuckface Center and planned to return a week later. The crowd was pretty enthusiastic, to the point where I decided to invite everyone to our hotel room at The Crowne Royale for a big after-party. A little later on in our set, a couple of guys left over from 1993 kept shouting "PLAY SOMETHING HEAVY!" so naturally we busted out Slayer's "Angel of Death" and they loved it. Angst is alive and well in Seattle, my friends! We were actually prompted to play an encore, so we busted out a slow, sloppy version of "Spare Tire" which cleared the room out faster than that time I whipped my dick out at my office holiday party.

Despite that, the fact that we didn't get paid, and that nobody took us up on the hotel room party offer (apparently our hotel wasn't actually called The Crowne Royale, though I'm not sure that was the reason nobody showed up), it was a fun night and we met some neato folks. I do wish I hadn't ordered that pizza at 2 in the morning, but on the bright side, it was probably cheaper than ordering a hooker.

"The Church of Song" and other great news!

Swimmers,

Greetings, long time no blog! As I'm sure you haven't noticed, I put the making of "Calm Down, Chief!" on the backburner, as I assembled a band and began gigging frequently these past few months as Lifeguard Nights. It's been a blast, and there are many great things to report from Lifeguard HQ.

First of all, on July 15th we went into Retromedia Studios in Red Bank, NJ and recorded basic tracks for 13 songs with our good buddy/engineer Adam Vaccarelli. Our intention was to try to capture our raw, live energy, with minimal editing and over-dubbing. With all of the over-produced crap out there today (bands spending months, or even years, in the studio wasting thousands of dollars doing take after take of each little vocal line, guitar line, etc, etc) I wanted to show that we could go in there, record live, and kick ass...and I think we did. All of the original tracks made the final cut, there were only a couple of minor edits, and vocal harmonies were overdubbed out of necessity. We mixed and mastered the album, shot the artwork and designed the packaging over the course of a week, and had the final product in our hands exactly one month after we had gone into the studio.

Ta-da!



"The Church of Song" is also available on Headshop Records, or from Cd Baby, or Digstation, and soon, iTunes!

"Headshop Records" you ask?

Yes indeed! While at the studio, our tracks caught the ear of Headshop Records (www.headshoprecords.com), who are putting "The Church of Song" out for us on their label! We are incredibly excited to be a part of their roster and feel that this is the beginning of a wonderful partnership!

We celebrated these accomplishments with a packed, sold-out show at the Mercury Lounge this past Friday, August 17th, with our new friends Jupiter One, and old friends The Bosch, who were both also celebrating their cd release parties. It was an amazing night all around, the highlight of which was a rousing rendition of "Over It", which included a number of our friends and fans jumping up on stage with us and singing along. It was also the debut performance of trumpeteer Brad Clymer with the band, a great new addition! (Plus it was my mom's first time seeing me perform, and she didn't disown me, so that was good too)

Finally, I somehow managed to convince most of the band to join me on a tour of the West Coast. Yes, we're leaving September 21st, playing Seattle that night, then heading down the coast and winding up in Vegas on the 29th, then flying home. For specific gig dates/locations, check out www.myspace.com/lifeguardnights

If you live in any of those cities, and/or have friends out there, support the team!

I'll also be doing my best to update this site with fun stuff from the road, so check back often!

It's lucky '07 for lifeguard nights!

safe swimming,

Vincent