Homesickness-finished
Posted by reallyrelyay | | Posted On Tuesday, March 4, 2008 at 1:16 PM
First half is DONE!
Homesickness
This may be bad for our image, but musicians really do get homesick. We're just discrete about it. Not once throughout the tour did I hear someone say, "I want to go home." (besides Jordan, who was really rather nonchalant about it, seeing as how we all knew that he didn't want to come in the first place.) But near the end of both tours it was implied. You could see it in our growing frustration with each other, on our weary weighted shoulders, or when we would wake up on the bus in the morning, stretch our aching bodies and exclaim, " I cannot wait to sleep in a real bed again!" Our joints would crack, hinge by hinge, and the subject would drop. Back to the road, on to the next show.
Musicians that are just beginning have it pretty rough. It’s part of the job. Every one has to start off at the bottom to work the way to the top. Otherwise, what would we talk about years later in our interviews with Rolling Stone? If Springsteen can work his way from New Jersey slums to megastar status, then it is not below us either. Hard work separates the local bar acts from the serious musicians. It’s a willingness to leap. There’s more hope in a sleepless night on the wooden slab of a bus bench then there is in a bed at home.
The second day of tour, while listening to “America” by Simon and Garfunkel, I wrote, “I can’t decide what leaves me more enthused…seeing America, or seeing, really seeing and knowing Justin, Ian, Joey, Jordan, and Gavin and growing together in a way that no one else will ever be able to understand.” In those first few days I lost sight of the fact that learning something never comes easily. I went on to write, “I’m worried that this could consume me and I could get the ache. The nomadic burn. It could take a lot of me to settle in one place…Being on the road and seeing the country like this has made me realize that I want to see it all.”
But then just six days later
“It’s weird how torn this is resulting me to be. Half of me is loving this experience and wants nothing more than for it to continue, and keep meeting people and signing and mingling…and half of me wants to just exist in one place.”
By July 23rd, while listening to Willy Nelson’s version of “Unchained Melody,” I wrote, “I am ready to be home. And I recognize that I am in an atrocious mood today…Today I am just exhausted, fatigued, and beaten.”
At rest stops we would disperse out to various worn picnic tables and call our families or friends. Phone conversations were difficult, as our experiences were hard to summarize. How do you tell your mother that you slept on a stranger's floor or that you brushed your teeth at a gas station? My best tactic was to keep conversation about home, daily tasks that were taking place, how my little sister was doing, the above ground pool that was being installed in our back yard. I would close my eyes while my mom was talking and imagine the sunlight cutting through the curtains of the bay window in the kitchen.
Slowly we would pile back on the bus and hit the road again, headed to the next venue for another night of nameless faces. Jordan would turn the key in the ignition and we would rumble down the highway. There were times when I would put my book down, and look out the blurred landscape of America, like a painting doused in paint thinner, and miss the solid look of land that stands still.
We all had different relationships with the road.
Joey would lay fetal style, facing the metal interior wall of the bus with his cell phone cradled to his ear. He would talk to Stevi until his battery drained.
“Stevi I love you so much.”
“Baby I miss you so bad.”
The rest of us would pretend not to hear his conversations, hiding behind our headphones or our books, but every once in while we would catch each other’s glances, look over at Joey’s back and roll our eyes.
“Every night my dream's the same
Same old city with a different name
Men are coming to take me away
I don't know why, but I know I can't stay”
-Arcade Fire
Gavin just immersed himself in the idea of rock-stardom. He and his girlfriend Julie had been intermittently together for over two years when we left for tour that summer. The first day on the road he set the tone for us.
“Julie said she doesn’t care what I do on the road or what happens with anyone, as long as I come back to her when it’s over.”
He loved everything about the idea of being a musician on the road, the mystique of the singer/songwriter. He knew the power that it gave him over girls. He wanted to throw himself into as many experiences as possible at whatever the cost. Gavin is doesn’t expect to grow old. His idols are Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, and Holden Caulfield. Everyone your parents tell you not to look up to.
Gavin didn’t pick up a girl every night. He did make attempts. It was his flirtations that got us a place to stay both nights that we were in Des Moines.
His scenario went like this:
Girl approaches Gavin, or Gavin approaches girl. After some introductory chatter…
Gavin: (Casually, almost with indifference) Yeah, I’m in band. We’re on tour right now.
Girl: Oh my gosh! That’s so cool! What do you play?
Gavin: (looking at his knees, or the ground. Stress on no eye-contact) I’m the singer, and I play guitar.
Girl: What kind of music?
Gavin: (shy smile) We’re kind of a folk band…
Girl: (eyes shining, and smiling.)…oh wow.
And with that his play was made.
“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you're mine, I walk the line”
-Johny Cash
I was never sure how to handle my relationship with Tony. I didn't want to seem needy, or overwhelm him with phone calls, so I called every other day to give him an update, or to see how his french classes were going. He would ask me eager questions. I would anticipate our reunion silently. I never soberly told him that I missed him.
In Tahlequah Oklahoma, a few nights before we came back he addressed my infrequent calls. "You know Laura, you can call me more often." He was right. I could have. But by not talking to him more often, I could more efficiently deny the fact that I had missed him the whole time.
The night of June 21st in Minneanapolis we worked our way onto the bill with five other local acts at a bar. We played first, when the only other members of the audience were members of the other bands. We played early, and our friend Sarah, who we would be staying with that night, couldn’t let us in until later, so we stuck around the bar.
We coerced the bar-tender into letting me start celebrating my birthday a few hours early. I had a few gin and tonics and called a few friends. Word got around the show that it was my birthday. The lead singer of one of the acts came up to us. “I heard there’s a birthday girl at the table,” he looked at me. The guys sized him up. He was incredibly tall, with sandy blonde hair, and a strong bone structure. “What are you drinking?” I told him Gin and Tonic and he went over to the bar. The guys rolled their eyes.
“What? It’s a free drink. It’s my birthday. It’s not like I’m going to go home with him.”
Gavin walked over to me, “Laura, you need to grow some goose feathers.” I asked him what he meant. “What I mean is, he’s not just trying to be a nice guy. You’re a girl who is drinking, who will only be in town for one night.” “Oh come on Gavin, it’s a drink.” I walked over to the bar where my gin and tonic was waiting. I didn’t even know this guy’s name, and I had no intention of learning it. We made some small talk. He told me about how elliot smith had been a regular at the bar before he killed himself, and how Haydn had played there before, even Bob Dylan. One of his friends had to tell him something, and he left for a moment. When he came back I was on the phone with Tony telling him everything about the venue I had just learned. It took the tall sandy-haired singer songwriter ten minutes to realize that I had no interest in him. He walked away. I kept talking to Tony.
“I wish you could be here with me
I would show you off like a trophy
The road it winds and twists and turns
My stomach burns…
I won’t be seeing you for a long while
I hope it’s not as long as these country miles
I feel lost…”
-Camera Obscura
The next day Joey’s homesickness became so extreme, and his love so longing, that it proved the impossible possible. On June 22nd a ten-year old Neo Geo with over 100,000 miles on it made the drive from Muncie, Indiana to Des Moines, Iowa. The couple could no longer stand be away from each other.
Earlier that morning Stevi had called to wish me a happy birthday.
“What if I drove up to Des Moines?”
Stevi’s action is solely based on impulse. If I told her it was too dangerous and that she shouldn’t come, she would come. If I told her she should come, she would come.
We went through the con’s list. We both knew the pro’s. I reminded her that she would have to drop out of her summer classes, that her car was unstable, that it would cost her quite a bit of money, and that she would be making a seventeen hour drive in one day by herself and would have to leave sometime within the next few hours if there was any hope of her reaching us before the next morning.
She said that she would think about it.
“Do you think she’ll come?” Joey was sitting cross-legged across from me on his bench. His eyes were large and shining. I laid down and got my book out of my purse. “Should she? No, not at all. Will she? Probably.”
He smiled.
Fifteen minutes later my phone vibrated. It was a text message from Stevi:
See you tonight!
That night Justin, Gavin, and I sat perched on stools on benches of the coffee shop stage, armed with a banjo, an acoustic guitar, a shaker, a tambourine, and two voices. Our usual artillery of instruments was gathering dust on the bus. Ian, Joey, and Jordan were in the audience, which consisted of seven or eight people outside of themselves.
I sipped on a Sierra Nevada and thought about what my friends and family were doing. Stevi was well on her way. Tony was probably at home in his room, reading. My parents were probably eating dinner in our kitchen, sitting around a round table and recalling the days events.
I felt misplaced.
“There were friends, they were laughing hard
They looked just like my own
With no face, no name, no voice I know
I finally made it
I made a clean get away.”
-Maria Taylor
Stevi got to the apartment around three o’clock in the morning. She was greeted by Joey’s open arms.
That night, Gavin got us a place to stay with some girl that he had met outside of our first show in Des Moines two nights prior. She promised that she was going to throw me a birthday party. He rode with her in her red sport car forty-five minutes West of the city. Her blonde hair waved to us out of her open window. She drove so fast that she lost the bus a few times. Gavin had to call us to let us know where to go. There were twenty-five strangers at her apartment when we arrived. They were ready to celebrate my birthday. Someone handed me a drink. I don’t remember any of their names.
Homesickness
This may be bad for our image, but musicians really do get homesick. We're just discrete about it. Not once throughout the tour did I hear someone say, "I want to go home." (besides Jordan, who was really rather nonchalant about it, seeing as how we all knew that he didn't want to come in the first place.) But near the end of both tours it was implied. You could see it in our growing frustration with each other, on our weary weighted shoulders, or when we would wake up on the bus in the morning, stretch our aching bodies and exclaim, " I cannot wait to sleep in a real bed again!" Our joints would crack, hinge by hinge, and the subject would drop. Back to the road, on to the next show.
Musicians that are just beginning have it pretty rough. It’s part of the job. Every one has to start off at the bottom to work the way to the top. Otherwise, what would we talk about years later in our interviews with Rolling Stone? If Springsteen can work his way from New Jersey slums to megastar status, then it is not below us either. Hard work separates the local bar acts from the serious musicians. It’s a willingness to leap. There’s more hope in a sleepless night on the wooden slab of a bus bench then there is in a bed at home.
The second day of tour, while listening to “America” by Simon and Garfunkel, I wrote, “I can’t decide what leaves me more enthused…seeing America, or seeing, really seeing and knowing Justin, Ian, Joey, Jordan, and Gavin and growing together in a way that no one else will ever be able to understand.” In those first few days I lost sight of the fact that learning something never comes easily. I went on to write, “I’m worried that this could consume me and I could get the ache. The nomadic burn. It could take a lot of me to settle in one place…Being on the road and seeing the country like this has made me realize that I want to see it all.”
But then just six days later
“It’s weird how torn this is resulting me to be. Half of me is loving this experience and wants nothing more than for it to continue, and keep meeting people and signing and mingling…and half of me wants to just exist in one place.”
By July 23rd, while listening to Willy Nelson’s version of “Unchained Melody,” I wrote, “I am ready to be home. And I recognize that I am in an atrocious mood today…Today I am just exhausted, fatigued, and beaten.”
At rest stops we would disperse out to various worn picnic tables and call our families or friends. Phone conversations were difficult, as our experiences were hard to summarize. How do you tell your mother that you slept on a stranger's floor or that you brushed your teeth at a gas station? My best tactic was to keep conversation about home, daily tasks that were taking place, how my little sister was doing, the above ground pool that was being installed in our back yard. I would close my eyes while my mom was talking and imagine the sunlight cutting through the curtains of the bay window in the kitchen.
Slowly we would pile back on the bus and hit the road again, headed to the next venue for another night of nameless faces. Jordan would turn the key in the ignition and we would rumble down the highway. There were times when I would put my book down, and look out the blurred landscape of America, like a painting doused in paint thinner, and miss the solid look of land that stands still.
We all had different relationships with the road.
Joey would lay fetal style, facing the metal interior wall of the bus with his cell phone cradled to his ear. He would talk to Stevi until his battery drained.
“Stevi I love you so much.”
“Baby I miss you so bad.”
The rest of us would pretend not to hear his conversations, hiding behind our headphones or our books, but every once in while we would catch each other’s glances, look over at Joey’s back and roll our eyes.
“Every night my dream's the same
Same old city with a different name
Men are coming to take me away
I don't know why, but I know I can't stay”
-Arcade Fire
Gavin just immersed himself in the idea of rock-stardom. He and his girlfriend Julie had been intermittently together for over two years when we left for tour that summer. The first day on the road he set the tone for us.
“Julie said she doesn’t care what I do on the road or what happens with anyone, as long as I come back to her when it’s over.”
He loved everything about the idea of being a musician on the road, the mystique of the singer/songwriter. He knew the power that it gave him over girls. He wanted to throw himself into as many experiences as possible at whatever the cost. Gavin is doesn’t expect to grow old. His idols are Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, and Holden Caulfield. Everyone your parents tell you not to look up to.
Gavin didn’t pick up a girl every night. He did make attempts. It was his flirtations that got us a place to stay both nights that we were in Des Moines.
His scenario went like this:
Girl approaches Gavin, or Gavin approaches girl. After some introductory chatter…
Gavin: (Casually, almost with indifference) Yeah, I’m in band. We’re on tour right now.
Girl: Oh my gosh! That’s so cool! What do you play?
Gavin: (looking at his knees, or the ground. Stress on no eye-contact) I’m the singer, and I play guitar.
Girl: What kind of music?
Gavin: (shy smile) We’re kind of a folk band…
Girl: (eyes shining, and smiling.)…oh wow.
And with that his play was made.
“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you're mine, I walk the line”
-Johny Cash
I was never sure how to handle my relationship with Tony. I didn't want to seem needy, or overwhelm him with phone calls, so I called every other day to give him an update, or to see how his french classes were going. He would ask me eager questions. I would anticipate our reunion silently. I never soberly told him that I missed him.
In Tahlequah Oklahoma, a few nights before we came back he addressed my infrequent calls. "You know Laura, you can call me more often." He was right. I could have. But by not talking to him more often, I could more efficiently deny the fact that I had missed him the whole time.
The night of June 21st in Minneanapolis we worked our way onto the bill with five other local acts at a bar. We played first, when the only other members of the audience were members of the other bands. We played early, and our friend Sarah, who we would be staying with that night, couldn’t let us in until later, so we stuck around the bar.
We coerced the bar-tender into letting me start celebrating my birthday a few hours early. I had a few gin and tonics and called a few friends. Word got around the show that it was my birthday. The lead singer of one of the acts came up to us. “I heard there’s a birthday girl at the table,” he looked at me. The guys sized him up. He was incredibly tall, with sandy blonde hair, and a strong bone structure. “What are you drinking?” I told him Gin and Tonic and he went over to the bar. The guys rolled their eyes.
“What? It’s a free drink. It’s my birthday. It’s not like I’m going to go home with him.”
Gavin walked over to me, “Laura, you need to grow some goose feathers.” I asked him what he meant. “What I mean is, he’s not just trying to be a nice guy. You’re a girl who is drinking, who will only be in town for one night.” “Oh come on Gavin, it’s a drink.” I walked over to the bar where my gin and tonic was waiting. I didn’t even know this guy’s name, and I had no intention of learning it. We made some small talk. He told me about how elliot smith had been a regular at the bar before he killed himself, and how Haydn had played there before, even Bob Dylan. One of his friends had to tell him something, and he left for a moment. When he came back I was on the phone with Tony telling him everything about the venue I had just learned. It took the tall sandy-haired singer songwriter ten minutes to realize that I had no interest in him. He walked away. I kept talking to Tony.
“I wish you could be here with me
I would show you off like a trophy
The road it winds and twists and turns
My stomach burns…
I won’t be seeing you for a long while
I hope it’s not as long as these country miles
I feel lost…”
-Camera Obscura
The next day Joey’s homesickness became so extreme, and his love so longing, that it proved the impossible possible. On June 22nd a ten-year old Neo Geo with over 100,000 miles on it made the drive from Muncie, Indiana to Des Moines, Iowa. The couple could no longer stand be away from each other.
Earlier that morning Stevi had called to wish me a happy birthday.
“What if I drove up to Des Moines?”
Stevi’s action is solely based on impulse. If I told her it was too dangerous and that she shouldn’t come, she would come. If I told her she should come, she would come.
We went through the con’s list. We both knew the pro’s. I reminded her that she would have to drop out of her summer classes, that her car was unstable, that it would cost her quite a bit of money, and that she would be making a seventeen hour drive in one day by herself and would have to leave sometime within the next few hours if there was any hope of her reaching us before the next morning.
She said that she would think about it.
“Do you think she’ll come?” Joey was sitting cross-legged across from me on his bench. His eyes were large and shining. I laid down and got my book out of my purse. “Should she? No, not at all. Will she? Probably.”
He smiled.
Fifteen minutes later my phone vibrated. It was a text message from Stevi:
See you tonight!
That night Justin, Gavin, and I sat perched on stools on benches of the coffee shop stage, armed with a banjo, an acoustic guitar, a shaker, a tambourine, and two voices. Our usual artillery of instruments was gathering dust on the bus. Ian, Joey, and Jordan were in the audience, which consisted of seven or eight people outside of themselves.
I sipped on a Sierra Nevada and thought about what my friends and family were doing. Stevi was well on her way. Tony was probably at home in his room, reading. My parents were probably eating dinner in our kitchen, sitting around a round table and recalling the days events.
I felt misplaced.
“There were friends, they were laughing hard
They looked just like my own
With no face, no name, no voice I know
I finally made it
I made a clean get away.”
-Maria Taylor
Stevi got to the apartment around three o’clock in the morning. She was greeted by Joey’s open arms.
That night, Gavin got us a place to stay with some girl that he had met outside of our first show in Des Moines two nights prior. She promised that she was going to throw me a birthday party. He rode with her in her red sport car forty-five minutes West of the city. Her blonde hair waved to us out of her open window. She drove so fast that she lost the bus a few times. Gavin had to call us to let us know where to go. There were twenty-five strangers at her apartment when we arrived. They were ready to celebrate my birthday. Someone handed me a drink. I don’t remember any of their names.
