Throughout March and some of April, yours truly embarked on a rock and roll adventure as the new bass player of Brooklyn metal band, The Giraffes. The band toured in support of their sublime new album Prime Motivator, and to rehearse for the Welcome Home show at the Mercury Lounge, Saturday, April 12th. This is part four of this four-part series.

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Wednesday, April 2 - The Beat Kitchen, Chicago, IL

We got kicked out of the Beat Kitchen. It was an 18+ show, and, in keeping with the Giraffes’ theatrical sense, Aaron was feeding booze to fans in the front row, some of who might not have been of legal drinking age. So, the club had to 86 us, though they allowed us to pack up slowly and sell merch, which was considerate. Still, pretty retarded. I was hoping it was gonna get physical, but it never came to that. This is the first time a band I play in had been kicked out of a club since the time my old Denver band Harriet the Spy got paid $100 to stop playing.

One of my shoes became untied around the 2nd song. At a strategic moment later in the set - about 6 songs later - i kicked it toward Drew, hitting him in the face during a roll. I spent about 2 songs only wearing one shoe, which seemed kinda dopey, so i kicked the other one at Aaron, hitting him in the neck. Who knew i was such a ninja with shoes? Without knowing the culprit Aaron said into the mic "I hope whoever threw their Converse at me gets cancer." Heh. At the end of the show, Drew tried to run off with my sneakers so i tackled him on stage. It was that kind of night.

We stayed out until past this night. We met a nice band and some of their friends, and, after the show, they took us to a bowling alley in, i think, somewhere. It took an eternity to get there, i know that much. I was being force fed shots and beers. I drank a "lunchbox", whatever that was. We then ended up at yet another Denny’s. I ordered the All-You-Can-Eat-Pancakes, primarily because, for whatever reason, it was the cheapest thing on the menu. I ate one. Then the guitarist of the band we were hanging out with picked up everybody’s tab, and there was 10 of us at the table. Thanks, guy!

I passed out in my clothes, and my luggage was locked in the van. So, the terribly disgusting, biohazardous socks i’d pranced around stage in the night before, blacker that something that’s really black, were my only footware option for the day. These would later end up in a trash can in Dayton, along with a world-weary pair of boxers. They probably should’ve been burned.

Hear the Giraffes stumble in late to Chicago's Fearless Radio broadcast here.

Our interview with Joe's Podhole was a drunken, hysterical mess, but i don't think it's up yet. Stay tuuuuuuuuned ...

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An actual phone conversation:

DAMIEN: "Hello." Pause.

"Why are you asking me this now?" Longer pause.

"ATM means Ass-to-Mouth." Pause.

"A Dirty Sanchez is when you finger someone’s butthole, then smear the brown over their lip to give them a mustache. Hey, you need to know what a Rusty Trombone is too?" A pause.

"Okay, ma. Love you too."

End scene.

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Thursday, April 3 - The Pearl, Dayton, OH

After our late late night in Chicago, we had breakfast yesterday at a Long John Silvers. That was awesomely disgusting, and now, they, just like Burger King, have cardboard promotional hats. Huge, Black and pirate-shaped, of course, festooned with their new, clunky-ass slogan "I Threw Boring Overboard at Long John Silvers." There was one left, and i made off with it. The best part is, the part of the Giraffes stickers reading "The Giraffes" fit so neatly over "boring" that it was like destiny.

So, yeah, i played last night in a pirate hat that read "I Threw the Giraffes Overboard at Long John Silvers." I felt paralyzingly ridiculous at first, until the undeniable power of booze, rock and sweat took over. Then i only, merely, *looked* ridiculous. The club was fun, but bizarre, some strange, post-apocolyptic combination of a 50s diner and a strip club. Pink and blue neon permeated every corner, with copious leather couches and love seats adorning every wall, which virtually no one sat in. We played on the dance floor, in the middle of the room. The set, despite one technical mishap, went well.

The headlining band was a local dude-core quintet named Marijuana Johnson. We stayed at their place too, and you can probably imagine what *that* after-party was like. I ended up passing out on a leaky beanbag chair, briefly, with my cardboard hat, disintegrating from sweat and wear, perched over my eyes. At one point, Damien was about to take a picture of his naked balls next to my face, when, suddenly, our host walked in the room with 9 boxes of pizza, and a matching amount of Mountain Dew. "Who’s hungry?" he intoned.

I sprang to life, precisely long enough to eat three slices. Decent zza, too. A couch had emptied up, and i promptly grabbed this and passed back out, still in the hat, and in the same outfit i’d passed out in the previous night in Chicago. I left behind my hat, on top of their television set, as a show of gratitude for being such excellent hosts.

Pre-pizza. Pre-zza?

Speaking of vehicles, the Marijuana Johnson tour vehicle is a utility truck, complete with a "cherry picker" arm that goes about 35 feet in the air. The members of the band were taking turns riding it up into the night sky in the parking lot of the club we played at last night. Ah, the Midwest.

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Friday, April 4th - Gypsy Hut, Cincinnati, OH

Well-attended, fun show. I could go into details, or i could instead summarize the evening by telling you about the crazed rocker chick who bumrushed me - in bowtie and ruffles - after the show and shouted with maniacal glee "YOU’RE LIKE THE LOST BALDWIN BROTHER!"

We stayed last night with the local-heroes and bill-mates The Sundresses, in a house across the Ohio River, in Newport, KY. I'm fairly obsessed with this economically-depressed, awesomely crackity burg, frozen in time. Kentucky’s 4th largest city, ranking (and situated) just below the Gateway to the South, Covington. Al Capone used to chill there back in the gangster days. An old riverboat gambling and sin town, and the air of deviance perseveres, though mostly it seems to take the form of ambling nattering zombies, fueled by meth. We spent about 3 minutes - and two dollars - in what is possibly America's grimy-est strip club, the Brass Ass. We then wandered the eerie streets, killing time. Pretty much every store sold swords. I took some pictures. Here's my favorite.

Here's the close second.

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Back at the Sundresses compound, i was seated on a couch. I was asked, "Do you know who Johnny Bench is?"

"Of course!’ i said, excitedly.

Turns out he used to own the very couch i was sitting on. This made me very happy. Damien got a photo of me on this MVPiece of furniture. But there's enough photos of me in this post as it is.

Speaking of couches, i ended up breaking the leg of their other one later in the day, then, in my futile attempt to fix it, smashed a vase to bits. Sorry, Sundresses!

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Saturday, April 5 - The Spitfire Saloon, Cleveland, OH

We enter the Spitfire Saloon, on the cusp of Cleveland proper and a western suburb, Op Ivy plays on the jukebox as i walk in. I see a guy in a Whalers jersey. I see a Guy Lombardo album cover on the wall. The stage used to be a half-pipe. The bar's logo has a mustache similar to Aaron's. I put money in a juke box for the first time since i left NYC. I play "ESP" by the Buzzcocks. It’s the first Buzzcocks i’ve heard in over a month. I feel like i got home a day early.

Though i don’t have much ability to conjure up words about it, Cleveland - which now seems like an eternity ago - might have been the most fun show of the tour, the punk rock cherry on the sundae. Riffs were rocked, beers were tossed, folks who drove down from Michigan to see the show were not disappointed. A goth looking kid on my side of the stage swatted the bass and gave it a loud strum during a breakdown. One kid, with a white scarf pulled over his eyes, was blindly thrashing out so hard - and was so drunk - he ended up knocking out some of his teeth on a railing. Then he got thrown out. Kids in Ohio don't mess around.

Even darts are cool in this bar.

One more night on a floor, one more meal of Subway sandwiches, one more stretch of brown late winter scenery, and we were back home, at a decent hour even. 31 days, no fights, no significant van problems, almost no bad weather (aside from my native Colorado, of course). Plenty of ailments, but that's to be expected. Maybe Damien’s right. Maybe i am good luck.

I guess we'll know for sure Saturday. April 12th, Mercury Lounge, 11pm. You know what to do.