A Peaceable Tour Diary

Part 5: Midwestern bound

Monday, May 13
Memphis, TN (day off)

There’s no weirder day on tour than a day off in a city where you are not playing. Today is such a day; it’s a stopover as we glide from Atlanta, GA to Dallas, TX. It’s too long for the driver to make in one shot, so we park up somewhere in between and let the driver rest. Hopefully it’s somewhere interesting. This time, our tour manager has chosen Memphis for such a stopover.

We’re staying at the Peabody Hotel; theres’ a whole duck thing happening in the hotel. Apparently there are ducks on the roof that need to be shepherded through the hotel every day at 11 am to their daytime swimming hole, a fountain in the middle of the lobby. As I make the haggard slouch from the bus to my hotel room, I see people gathered at the elevators, waiting for this waterfowl parade. I have to navigate a series of cordons to get to the elevator. I half expect to be greeted by a carful of ducks in the elevator when it comes, but, alas, it’s empty. I never did see the ducks — though our TM Heather did and she reported back that it was “underwhelming.”

We’re not really staying here in Memphis. Our bus call is midnight, so any sleeping we’ll be doing in the hotel will strictly be napping. I do make the most of my hotel room, though. There is plenty of sleep to catch up on. I’ve never been so thankful for a day off, I don’t think. I walk down to the Mississippi River, but it feels like a cursory jaunt. I’m no sooner back in my hotel, curled up in the bed and napping. I’m feeling well-rested, though, by the time the sun goes down and I’m in a good mindset as I climb back into my bunk, ready to make the continued journey westward. Farewell, Memphis. We hardly knew ye.

Tuesday, May 14
Dallas, TX

And just like that, we are in the great state of Texas. We are also in Central time zone, so my clock requires a little adjusting. I’m up early, grinding coffee in the front lounge of the bus, when Funk emerges from his bunk. “Oh right,” he says, “We’ve played here before.” I look out the window and see a pretty non-descript public park surrounded by some very downtowny-looking office buildings. I don’t know how he knows this; Chris Funk must have extra-perceptual powers.

We’re playing at the Majestic Theater this evening in downtown Dallas. I happen to know we’ve played here before — back in 2018 — but only because I tend to look at setlist.fm every day and see what we played and where we played the last time we came through a city. Even though, I suppose, it’s unlikely we’ll be playing before the exact same audience before, it gives one an excuse to change up the setlist a bit.

I move into the venue, into the dark underbelly of the Majestic’s building. This is an Old Beautiful Proscenium Theater (OBPT). From the 1920s, I believe. The only thing about OBPTs is that while their stage and house might be very well-appointed with lavish, baroque filigrees here and there and plenty of flies and lines to hang one’s stage design from, the backstages tend to be a little spartan. Spartan and subterranean. They’ve done what they can with the dressing rooms here at the Majestic, but there’s only so much sprucing one can do to a windowless, cinderblock corridor. The shower in the dressing room, however, is surprisingly solid. Its rating follows:

General Layout/Ambiance: ★★☆☆☆
Water Pressure: ★★★★☆
Temperature: ★★★★☆
User Interface: ★★★☆☆

Not bad for an OBPT. After my shower, I decide to go for a walk. There is little to walk to, here in downtown Dallas, and as soon as I get a few blocks from the venue, I find my enthusiasm for adventure dwindling. I head back to the theater, capturing a photo of the front of the building in the process. It’s really the least I could do. Here’s the picture:

Energy that might’ve flagged during the day is summoned, however, when we hit the stage. The setlist feels good, feels fresh, at this point. Changes have been made (catered to this particular audience here in Dallas) and the flow feels right. The audience, I can tell, are in high spirits even though they spend most of the set sitting down. They don’t stand until I command them to, during the breakdown in “The Sporting Life.” It always feels like a cheat, having to ask an audience to stand; you’d rather the Power of Music itself drew them to their feet. Sometimes you need to prime the pump a little, I guess. John, after the show, reveals that he sat in one of the theater seats earlier in the day and confirmed that they were very comfortable. That would explain it. The Power of Music has little sway over an ample cushion and a reclining seat back.

And then it’s fare-thee-well, Dallas. On to Austin.

Wednesday, May 15
Austin, TX

The sun is shining through the bus windows this morning and I can see those leafy ash and oak trees from the front lounge. Victor and Nate are here, already suiting up to cycle to Barton Springs for a dip. It sounds dreamy, but too ambitious for my taste. Besides, I submerged my head at the hotel hot tub in Memphis and my right ear got all weird.

Bodies get weird on tour, folks. Particularly older bodies. Outside of your normal routine and diet, things can go south in unanticipated ways. I feel like I’ve been dealing with a nascent ear infection this entire run, principally because I spend two hours every night with a piece of plastic perfectly molded to the inner contours of my ear shoved as far down near to the eardrum as possible. Of course shit’s going to get fucked up. Add a simple hotel hot tub submersion to this and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

That’s my excuse anyway, why I am not cycling to Barton Springs for a dip on this fine, spring day in Austin, Texas. I am also very lazy, which is a contributing factor.

Instead, I heave my things into the venue, which is the Bass Concert Hall here on the U of T campus. It’s a grotesque 70s brick behemoth; its inner corridors are like a maze. I find our dressing room and settle in. I take a nap on the couch; I write what I did in Dallas, Texas, on this diary. I briefly walk outside with my book, enjoying the sensation of the sun on my face and the warm, humid air on my skin. I am immediately assailed by weird black and white mosquitos. I return inside.

Despite this being a seated PAC, the crowd seems plenty lively. Chris Funk, afterwards, counted two “Footloose Moments”¹ within the first couple songs of the main set, once we emerged from the gazebo. This was a crowd really tussling with its relative body positions, whether or not they wanted to sit or stand. Standing eventually won out. We played the same setlist as the night before in Dallas. In Dallas, everyone was feeling bullish, that this was the setlist to beat. It had all the right high notes, low notes; it had the cadence of a great show. We play it again tonight in Austin, though, and I’m already sick of it. So much for sticking to one setlist for the whole tour. Of course, my caprice would ruin any kind of professionalism we might aspire to.

I slink away at the end of the night to scarf down a quick piece of pita with hummus. I Facetime with my adoring wife. I climb into my bunk and suffer the bus internet to stream me the first twenty minutes of Get Carter. I fall asleep. Goodnight, Austin.

Thursday, May 16
Tulsa, OK

It’s a day off, another stop-over day off as the drivers rest and we loiter in a hotel room for a day before being called back to the bus in the middle of the night. I slept really poorly on the ride from Austin, so I’m thankful for the hotel bed. I become very well acquainted with it.

I like Tulsa, though. We’ve played at Cain’s Ballroom a few times over the years and it’s always a unique spot on the touring schedule. Over the years, that part of town has developed into a nice little neighborhood, with lots of good food and coffee and books. I stop by Magic City Books, which is a great independent bookstore, and pick up a copy of Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez. I’d read one of her stories in a collection of Latin American horror and loved it. The bookstore has a couple copies of my last book, The Stars Did Wander Darkling, and I gamely offer the cashier that I sign them. He, in turn, gamely gives me an assortment of gold Sharpies to choose from. All to say: people of Tulsa, Oklahoma, there are two signed copies of The Stars Did Wander Darkling waiting for you on the shelf at Magic City Books.

The rest of the day is quiet, unremarkable. I take a long nap, I FaceTime with my wife. I finish Get Carter. And then it’s back to the bus. Time to ride to Missouri, people.

Friday, May 17
St. Louis, MO

I don’t sleep great riding from Memphis to St. Louis. Not sure why; at this point, all bets are off. I have a torn shoulder ligament, a right neck pain, a weird right ear, and a larynx that is like a person who arrived too late for a train but managed to grab on to the edge of a windowsill and is hanging on for dear life as they are dragged from city to city. Oh, and I ate something strange in Memphis and have a bit of what we call the TTTs (tour tummy trouble). Just laying it all out for you, people. All of that tends to be the recipe, though, for poor sleep hygiene.

As a consequence, the day goes by in a fog of ailment. Our sturdy tour manager Heather, however, sensing my body’s distress, has arranged for a massage therapist to set up backstage. We all get a nice 60 minutes of body work. It’s a luxury I don’t take for granted. My neck manages to feel *worse* afterwards anyway. Alas.

The Pageant is another BDRC, and one that we have played a few times before. The last time we were here was 2011. It’s been a while but I suppose it’s always nice to see a familiar face. The stairwells are lined with photos of the owner posing with the various bands who played here. I don’t think he ever got his picture taken with us. I’m trying not to take it personally.

Our eyes ever shining toward the future, we decide it’s probably a good idea to use some of these soundchecks as an opportunity to work through the new songs, the ones we haven’t rehearsed yet. We get to a point with “Don’t Go to the Woods” and “Never Satisfied” to find a spot for them in the setlist. During the show, we open with “Woods” in the gazebo and it feels really nice, even though there is not a soul in the audience who would’ve heard it before. “Never Satisfied” feels a little clunky and afterwards we all agree we missed playing “Long White Veil” (whose spot it took). We’ll swap it out tomorrow night. A setlist is a forever evolving/devolving thing.

I realize I’ve basically stopped taking photos on this tour; I hope that is not a feature of the tour diary that you guys are particularly drawn to. I’m bad at taking photos — of myself and others. Perhaps this picture of my base setting for the Moog Mother-32 that I helm every night during what we call “Joan Space” (the third movement of “Joan in the Garden”) will sate your thirst:

No time to dawdle; it’s on to Milwaukee, Wisconsin!

1. A “Footloose Moment” is when one person in a seated theater stands — and then a few more people stand, and then the whole house is on their feet. As if they’d been freed from the shackles of some uptight Christian community that forbids such things.