Railroad Jerk - Spring Tour 1993

by Marcellus Hall

The next day we arrived in historic Williamsburg, Virginia, and the college of William & Mary. There we shook hands with our friends and labelmates, the Unsane, who were also on the night's bill. Free vegetarian sandwiches and soda pop were served and the 6-band bonanza began. We set up a merchandise table and signed our autographs on a poster. We played to a crowd of teenagers that night who had had enough to drink. Some of them had got sick on the floor and in the bathroom. I saw Cindy Chan, the promoter and the night's ringleader, mopping it all up at one point in the evening. Unfortunately we misplaced the directions to Cindy's party which was supposed to happen afterward. We had fun though hanging out with the Unsane, exchanging road stories and eating 7-Eleven burritos at 3:00 am. That night we slept on the floor of their motel room and had showers.

The next day we called Vicki, our booking agent, and we also called Matador, but the call to Matador was collect. Then we drove to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, home of Superchunk. As we entered the club, Local 506, I overheard two girls mention a party and asked if we could attend. The braided girl said yes and gave us directions. Then we met Niko, the promoter. He was friendly and made us feel at home. We went to the party with him, which was an outdoor BBQ with Patty Smith playing on the stereo. We laid on the grass and drank beer. Eventually someone brought out a violin and an acoustic guitar, and with my harmonica we had a regular howdown by the fire. Later on we walked to a small hangout called the Cave where two bands played. We had drinks at a Mexican restaurant next door and, afterward, walked to another party a few blocks away. Everything was lush and green. We were drunk.

We had a good night's sleep on Niko's Salvation Army furniture that night while Quinn, his red haired dog, ran in circles, jumped on beds, and rattled his tail.

The next day I found a second-hand jacket the color of my hair and bought it. That night at the club, as we were sound checking, a funny old man in a big, furry, white hat came in with a cane and an entourage of 3 or 4 middle-aged men. It turned out this was the one-and-only Guitar Gabriel and his sidemen! We spoke with them and found that they were playing just across the street that very night. At 10 pm we went and saw the show. Country blues on acoustic guitars. Afterward we had our picture taken with Gabe and Mike, his partner of 35 years, and Dave bought Gabe a drink. Brandy with lemon.

Later at our show in the middle of our set, lo and behold, who came in but guitar Gabe and his band! Gabe threw down his cane and started dancing! About our music, Gabe told Niko, "They're too loud, but they got soul." Then later, this 80 year old Gabe asked one of the local girls if she wanted to "get it on." When she retorted with, "I'd give you a heart attack!" Gabe simply put his fingers to his lips, then put them to hers and walked away.

After the show we drove all night and parked at at a Appalachian truck stop to sleepat sunrise.

The next day we saw a lake and stopped to rest. A country dog came by and we played fetch with a stick. (Him fetching). Later in the afternoon we had lunch at the original Kentucky Fried Chicken somewhere in Kentucky. They had a big ceramic statue of the Colonel and a replica of his original kitchen. The chicken was bad.

In Louisville we played with a band called Rodan to a small crowd at Tewligans. Our projected pay for the night was so low that the cook wanted us to pay him for the food we ate before we played! "Yeah right," we said and went ahead and played. The members of Rodan later argued on our behalf and we didn't have to pay. This was lucky for the club as the whole affair left a foul feeling in our stomachs. The food was good though, I'll say that much.

After a restful night at the so-called "Rocket House," home of Rodan, we got ourselves some coffee and plunged into the South down highway 65. In Memphis we took a walk down Beale Street and heard bad music coming out of overpriced blues bars. We bought Elvis postcards and left. We then crossed the fat Mississippi River and found ourselves in Arkansas. Down the road a ways we bought liquor and beer and got a motel room for the night.

It rained all the way to Dallas, but it was no big deal; we were excited to be in Texas. that night we earned practically nothing and played to the headlining band. We sold T-shirts though and met some nice people. Two girls had a party and we slept on their floor after dancing to Steppenwolf.

As we drove to Houston the air became hotter and more humid. In Houston we could smell oil; hence the name Houston Oilers. Also we saw our first palm tree.

Storm clouds threatened all day and finally a downpour let loose. It was short though and an incredible sky followed with brooding clouds to the east and a rainbow to the west. The Houston skyline glowed in that electric blue light that usually happens after a downpour like that. We sat with Danny, the promoter, and had Texas-style barbecued chicken and ribs, Lone Star beer, potato salad and baked beans while Hank Williams moaned in the background. It was the finest meal we had had in a long time.

Emo's is a great club. It has an outdoor area with a pool that holds goldfish and old plastic beer cups. The place was packed that night. The people were friendly, as only Texas people can be, and we were paid well. We were given all the beer we wanted, which certainly didn't hurt anything, and we played with the Cherubs, an Austin band whose good nature and cool music won us over immediately. Later Dave and I went to a disco next door where we ran into people from the show: Tony and Dave got in a card game called "Fuck Your Neighbor" with the bouncers from Emo's and Danny.

Austin was another great show. We played with the Cherubs and there was a thunderstorm. Tanya Small, a friend from New York, showed up. She was attending school at the University of Texas in Austin. Also with her was Debbie Pasteur who we knew from New York. After the show we went to the Cherubs' house and drank. We read Petter Bagge comics and listened to records.

We woke the next day at 3 pm and went with Brent of the Cherubs to meet Tanya and Debbie. We all ate at a Mexican restaurant and then got on the road to San Antonio. It was an exciting 1 1/2 hour drive what with the van so crowded and all of us talking at the same time. We listened to the Fall's Grotesque album and Can.

We finally arrived at Tacoland, the club in San Antonio. A small place that we had heard many good things about. Outside stood the members of the opening bands: Splinter and Boxcar Satan. We introduced ourselves and they told us the bad news: Tacoland is locked and no one knows where the owner is. They assured us that it was some sort of emergency as this was not the usual custom. We bought beer and stood around. The night was clear and warm. Some fans showed up, but no owner. It began to look bleak. Then, as it became apparent that there would not be a show, the crowd took up a small collection and handed us $50 for gas. This gesture had us overwhelmed with gratitude and we drove away with tears in our eyes (and $50 in our pockets).

The next day, back in Austin, we met Tanya who brought us to the restaurant she worked at and fed us at a discount. Her kindness left us much in her debt and we couldn't have thanked her enough. The food was great. The bathrooms could have used a cleaning, though.

It was time to drive through west Texas and this we did. We saw ranches and scenic desert vistas. It seemed to go on forever, but we were prepared for that never-ending feeling. By nightfall we pulled into a rest stop and jogged up the side of a desert cliff to stretch our legs. We stopped 1/8th of the way up and went back down. We had a rock throwing contest to see who could hit a garbage can first from 100 yards away. None of us did, but the moon was full and all around us was dead silence, which is cool if you're into that. After a day's worth of driving we found ourselves in Fort Stockton, Texas. (At one time, one might have said "at" Fort Stockton, but now it is simply "in" Fort Stockton.) There we had a greasy dinner at a truck stop and found lodging at the Gateway Lodge, the four of us fitting into a single occupancy room.

The next morning in El Paso we parked by the Rio Grande and paid 25 cents to walk across the border. It was 6 pm and we were the only non-Spanish-speaking people (white guys) around. It was our first time in Mexico. We walked the streets. Merchants, vendors, hawkers, and beggars all tried their pitches on us. While Tony had his shoes shined, we got to talking to a cab driver named Louie who knew some English. We agreed to let him show us a good bar for $5. The bar was dark and we ordered a round of beers including one for Louie. We were introduced to one or two girls who gave the impression that we should buy them drinks, so we did. There was very little to say. Our Spanish was bad and so was their English. The older woman at the bar asked us if we wanted to go to the back room with the girls. The implications of this question left us stunned and we knew we had to get out of there fast. Much to everyone's disappointment we left. The girls would have to wait until we could return richer and more bolder. The sun was setting when we crossed back to our homeland. I tried to get a deal on the price to cross, but the officers would have none of it. We paid the full 50 cents.

At a New Mexico 24-hour store that night we bought 750 milliliters of red wine for $2.79 and a 6-pack. We drove to a dirt road by the side of a railroad track somewhere in the middle of nowhere and had ourselves a regular party, telling fish stories, singing songs, and recounting our first experiences with the opposing sex. Once again the night was still and fine and lit by a nearly full moon. We suddenly saw a light in the distance. It came closer and closer. What the hell?! Goddamn, if it wasn't a freight train! Before we could think again the cars came whooshing by like one giant, pounding snake and we were screaming and jumping with excitement as anybody would in that situation. This was not the only train we saw that night either. There were many more, and we were lulled to sleep in our van by their regular passing, east and west.

In the morning a giant steer stuck its face in our window and scared us half to death, almost. "Shit!" Tony yelled, waking up, and the steer plodded away down the dirt road.

The next day we were on the road to California. We put on a tape of Syd Barret and drove. With time to kill we stopped in the middle of the Arizona desert to watch the sun set. We parked by the banks of the rushing Gila River and ate mushrooms. The sun beat down on us and it felt good. A little later we climbed atop our van for a better view. Within a span of twenty minutes the sky flared orange/red; the sun was sinking, and just opposite in the dark blue, the moon appeared, rising, full, and fluorescent. We felt we were at the center of the universe or something. We drank beer and lit fireworks. After it had become dark, a sudden roar caused us to look up. Screaming across the sky was an air-force jet, its red lights just scraping our heads and traveling very fast. Two seconds later it was gone and we were left pinching ourselves. "Shit!" we exclaimed and couldn't stop talking about it for hours.

That night we slept at a $25 per night motel in Yuma, Arizona and Dave did laps in the pool.

Los Angeles was our next stop. Upon entering the city, we were immediately struck by the traffic problem, but we had no solution for it. It seemed we spent more time in the van than out of it. We called the local "cool" radio station that afternoon and told them about our show. The show was a last-minute booking so nobody knew about it and it was good that we called. We had time to kill so we drove around and tried to hit every red light. We did pretty good and eventually we found ourselves at the Santa Monica Pier. From there I called Julee in New York. It was good to hear her voice. She complained of receiving my postcards in clumps, so I told her I would wipe off the molasses before I sent them.

Our show that night went without a hitch and everyone had a good time. There to see us was Roberto from the band, Sandy Duncan's Eye. He let us stay at his loft and gave us stickers (decals, that is).

The next morning we had a hearty breakfast and got en route to San Francisco. Halfway there, on Interstate 5, we smelled cow shit. We looked up and saw hundreds and hundreds of cows. We'd never seen so many whole and living cows at one time. It was awesome. I guessed it was some kind of hamburger farm, but we never did find out.

Driving into San Francisco we stopped at a roadside florist and put flowers in our hair. We arrived at the Chameleon at seven. That night we played to a full house. I ran into a few old friends from my hitchhiking days. It was great to be in San Francisco. That night we drove to visit filmmaker Jon Moritsugu's set (Hippy Porn, Der Elvis, Mommy Mommy Where's My Brain?) in the warehouse district. He was in a good mood and we spoke with him and the crew in between takes. Then Dave embarked on an after-hours search for beer with some girl he'd met. When he didn't come back after a couple of hours we said, "Screw it," and went to Afshin and Jenny's house to sleep. I put up a sign for Dave at the Chameleon saying where we were. We slept good that night but felt worried about Dave. Where was he? We didn't know...

Dave rolled in the next morning apologizing but with a big grin on his face. We knew what that meant; we weren't stupid. We didn't ask questions; as long as the van was intact we were happy too. That day we went to the ocean (the Pacific) with Tonia, another friend of mine. She talked about comics and phone sex while we climbed the cliffs. That night we ate at the restaurant with the "best Chinese food in the world." (House of Nanking) We laughed at this description, of course, but soon found ourselves eating our laughter. The food was good. And filling too! We washed it down with Tsing-tao beer and lurched down the street. Then we went to Coit Tower and viewed the city from up there. Murals by Diego Rivera were on view through the windows of the tower which was cool.

Our tour was now half over and we had a week's break. Tony and Alec wee flying out east to attend family events (marriages, executions, baptisms, what not), while Dave and I were preparing to drive to Minneapolis where we would all meet later. (Dave's and my trip through the Sierra Nevadas and across the Nebraska plains was an event in an of itself. It'd make a good book or screenplay or something if someone had the time and patience to write it all down). Meanwhile we looked forward to the second half of our tour which would take us to the great cities of the mid-west and on to the industrial east. (I'm writing about it now on my lunch hour.)