April snuck up on me fast (if anything can sneak "quickly," I'm happy to debate that point if we can all come to some kind of linguistic consensus), and now I find
my trip to Seattle yawning before me, daring me to actually embark. Not like I won't, it's just that the whole business seemed so distant for so long, a vast insane plan to drive 2500 miles to play for 20-some souls less than a year after an extremely successful and satisfying "farewell show" ... but I've been convinced that it's the right thing to do, officially mark the release of
THESE ARE THE END TIMES in the city of its birth/gestation/conception with the people who made it possible/inevitable, not as a publicity stunt or marketing ploy (as I'd like to imagine it) but as punctuation to a very important and fruitful chapter in the illegible book that is my life. And now it's here. If all goes as planned, I'll be on the road by Easter, hitting Seattle in time for some quick practice and
Honk Fest (three days of tubas, trumpets, bass drums and outlandish costumes -- the kids these days just LOVE noise), then some more serious rehearsal/flyering and we visit Tacoma first, Seattle second. And then? Drive home. Take stock of whatever just happened. Start again, again.
It's gonna be good, though ... my new pal
Jason is creating a minimalist video piece that should serve as a stimulating backdrop to our two performances, if technology doesn't fail us (which almost NEVER happens, I know, but I'm bringing the sign just in case), and the two joints we're hitting are cool places that also booked our friends
Pillow Army and
Keg, The Lone Ranger Of Rock, so at the very least we'll be in good company.
I feel like I've been straddling two coasts for the past nine months (yes, the Great Lakes constitute a coast, fuck off), with rapidly diminishing returns, and while the idea of cutting ties with Seattle is unthinkable, I definitely need to mark the achievement of the End Times' first (of many?) official physical document so I can figure out what's next. What's next? The inevitable eccentric part time job,
more freelance writing assignments, another round of recording and gigging with the
Jeni Lee Band (Detroit debut with the new rhythm section on the last night Michiganders can legally smoke tobacco in public places at
the Belmont) and whatever comes after that. No answers. No solutions. No conclusions until it's too late to contemplate them -- that's the life I've chosen. It isn't easy, but it's honest.
