Okay, this is starting to get stupid. John can take crisp, perfectly in focus photos all night long but as soon as the crowd shot comes into play, there is a monkey with a brain injury pressing the shutter button. I think he took this before they even played. Whatever.
This cold weather crap is for the birds. Wait, no it’s not, because even birds are smart enough to bounce the hell out when the thermostat starts dropping. I mean, come on, it’s October for Christ’s sake. We should not be scraping the windshield, and by we I mean Aaron, while I smoked and took photos.
The drive from Denver to Lawrence takes around nine hours and you lose an hour in the process. As far as drives go this one is right between frontal lobotomy and coma on the mind numbing scale, luckily the weather was bad enough to keep us on our toes.
The van was so cold the wheels put on one of those shitty dreadlock hats to try and stay warm:
The doors opened for the show at 6:00, so we, of course, rolled in at 6:15 which we would usually feel bad about, but since we were the first band there, we could actually hold our heads high this time around.
The show had to end at 10:00 so we had a whole night to kill. All three bands got rooms at the same hotel about a half hour outta town. I instantly knew we had made the right choice when I went to the lobby and overheard a man telling the clerk that while he was out his room had been robbed, taking everything he had.
We were a little stressed out about the whole situation, so we left everything in the room and grabbed Sonny from Saviours and Laura from Kylesa and headed to the nearest bar for a couple rounds of stress-be-gone.
Right around last call Bryan asked for a Jim Beam neat, the bartender replied “B and B?” “Beam. Neat.” Bryan answered. A few seconds later the barkeep returned with a snifter full of brown, whiskey looking booze. For a second we thought he was just getting fancy on us, but one sniff and we knew that whatever was in the glass was not Bourbon. Turns out, the bartender thought he had ordered a B+B, which is Brandy. Now brandy is great if you’re sitting on your yacht rubbing elbows with the other mid-seventies chums from the country club, but not so much if you’re, well—us.
Growing up in the late seventies/early eighties Bryan knows that there are starving kids in Africa who would kill for a fine Brandy, so he threw that bad boy straight down his face hole in one gulp. The result was, well, judge for yourself:
Quick note about the above photos: The first photo of Bryan is quite possibly the least flattering photo I have ever taken of anyone. Ever. He looks like Rocky from that movie Mask. And that bottom photo is not out of focus, my camera’s eye was still watering from puking after taking the first photo of Bryan.
Tour To Live!