RED FANG

We were running a little late because Aaron needed mucus relief: The boys rocked out: Then we bounced out in time for David to get dinner: —Coyle Tour To Live!

John thought he lost his camera, so David drew this: Then he found his camera: Anyway, after years of being told how run down Flint was , I was a little scared when we pulled into town. That was only doubled when The Machine Shop owner, Kevin, started telling us that Flint was second to Compton for violent crime. Since there is about one block of Portland (that you would have to go out of your way to) which might be considered sorta dicey, this was not news I knew how to handle. I locked myself in the bathroom, started googling “ Judo moves ” on my totally untough Iphone and hoped no one could hear my uncontrolable weeping. Turns out I overreacted again. While the people of Flint may have some across some tough times, those sonsabitches know how to party. Every person that came up to the merch table was nice as hell, wanted to thank us for coming to Flint and make sure we had fresh drinks in our hands the entire night. The staff at The Machine Shop ruled, making sure that we were ta

Nothing but the best for our favorite guy! Notice my name isn't on there, trying to make the roadie out as the bad guy huh? I'll remember that... -- Post from Coyle's pocket.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER LIMITED AUTOGRAPHED COPY ONLY $8.99

If you ever see me agree to tour the mid-west in the middle of winter again, bash me in the skull with a tire iron. Summer? Sure. Fall, Spring? I'm in. Winter? No way in H-E-double-hockey-sticks. I am no stranger to the cold, spending a good chunk of my life living above the snow line of Mt. Hood, but the combination of temperatures in the teens and wind coming off the Great Lakes is unbearable. They say it's not like that all the time, in fact, the rumor was that the weather had been nice around Michigan until, from what I got, our van crossed the border. It was snowing sideways when we woke up which is the tour equivalent of waking up to a punch in the ball bag. The next seven hours was spent white knuckling the steering wheel and a whole lot of this: As a rule I try to never say anything bad about a show, 'cause the worst show is still ten times better than working a real job. That being said, Detroit was a tough crowd to win over. Look at this crowd shot: Yeah, that'

This could be the finest Motel in the entire country. I mean, come on, look at this intricate tile work in the bathroom: It's as if they brought Michelangelo back from the dead to hand carve each tile! Breathtaking really... ...And the choice of lighting: Is that real Tiffany? I almost ripped it out of the ceiling and ran to the nearest Antiques Roadshow. ...And talk about customer service, they were ready for anything you threw at them. Let's say you lost your mold covered toothpaste cap, there was one waiting for you in the bathroom sink drain: Keep an eye out for a full Travel Channel profile, it's gotta be in the works, if not they're blowing it. —Coyle

Hoping that doing laundry will eliminate that fancy cheese-esque smell that is wafting from the back of the van. I doubt it's going work though, I'm thinking the smell has less to do with the clothes and more to do with the five dudes wearing 'em... -- Post from Coyle's pocket.

Up 'till we pulled in to Traverse City the only thing I knew about it was that the one and only Aaron James Draplin was spawned there. That was good enough for me, 'cause Draplin is one of the best damn people on the planet. That guy has done ten times more for me than I can ever do for him. As a matter of fact, he made the first Red Fang tour posters only asking that "(we) kick the west coast's ass" in return. When he heard the van was packed and heading out again, he gave us this package of swag: Salt of the earth. He even called to tell us that his parents had some warm beds and hot food waiting for us, if needed. Thanks Aaron. Glad to say everyone we met in Traverse City was cut of the same cloth. Thanks folks. —Coyle Tour To Live!

Really? You want me to remember what happened three days ago? I can't remember what happened three hours ago. Okay. I know that the crowd was awesome, as you can see, and there was some beer... Man, I gotta lay off the sauce. —Coyle Tour To Live!

Got one of them "aps" from the interweb that let's me get all blogtastic from my phone. Some real Jetsons shit. -- Post From My iPhone

You might be asking yourself "What the hell does this have to do with Red Fang's tour?" Well, when a woman who has no problem letting you jump in a van for months-on-end to sell t-shirts, and write crap that no one wants to read has a birthday—you will know that answer to that question. I love you Face! Oh, and P.S.: She has been to more Red Fang shows than you have. Unless you are me, or in the band. Which you're not. —Coyle Tour To Live!

If all the other dates on this tour shit the bed, there will always be Chicago. For starters we stayed with John's old friend Cary (I hope I spelled that right): Cary is one of the those guys who felt like a long time friend after knowing him for two minutes . Our first introduction was after I was heckled out of the driver's seat, due to my inability to parallel park. Cary, who had been watching the whole thing, started laughing at me before I even had a chance to shake his hand. I knew we were going to hit if off right away. Within five minutes of entering Cary's apartment Bryan got all Ben Kenobi on Sherman: As we loaded in the snow started falling, making the already thirteen degree weather even more awesome. Luckily the wind was blowing a mellow 400 m.p.h. If you were facing into the wind it was damn near impossible to see. At one point, trying to make it to the van, I walked into a parked car. Not my best moment. All that pales in comparison to the fact that, next mon

You're most likely sick of hearing how awesome the show was, but it was. So pipe down. The only complaint I have about Madison: You can't buy beer past 9:00. Come on! 1:00 AM? Sure. Midnight? I can deal— It's a pain in the ass, but I can deal. 9 pm? For the love of Jebus, come on! LOST ain't even on yet... Enough about that. We made some new friends in Wisconsin: This guy was so excited about getting Aaron's autograph that he wanted to sign Aaron's arm: I am fully aware of how little sense that makes, so there is no need to bring it up. Really. Stop talking about it. —Coyle Tour To Live!

Been lacking internet. Stew on this photo I got in Louisville 'till I can get some quality time with a WiFi connection. Trust me it'll be worth the wait... I hope. Stop judging me! —Coyle Tour To Live!

Where the Mai-Tai's at? —Coyle Tour To Live!

For the love of Jebus. Look at this photo, it's like I gave a monkey with Tourette's a camera. I'm going to have to start playing tambourine to get a photo of the crowd that's worth a shit. Alright, remember what I was saying about the Clutch fans, how they rule, with the showing up early and the love of all things barley? Well just in case you didn't believe me I got some proof. Exhibit A: This is the line outside a good hour before the doors opened. Not show time. Door time. A big "sorry" goes out to the dude in the front who I blinded with the flash. My B. Exhibit B: Double fisting pitchers of beer. Not glasses or cans, straight pitchers. Animals. Our kinda animals. I think Aaron is starting to lose his mind, for almost an hour he thought he was a cat. After these photos were taken, he spent thirty-five minutes chasing a fake mouse on a string around the green room. I'm not even going to talk about the fur-ball... Bed time. —Coyle Tour to Live!

Look at that damn photo. I put the camera on auto and John still can't make it work. You should see him up there trying to get these crowd shots, it's like a monkey humping a football. The guy can make every limb of his body play a different time measure, but the basics of digital photography are out of his reach. Anyway... Due to some booking snafu Clutch and Mudvayne had both booked shows on the same night. The promoter thought that the shows might mess with each other so he combined them. This struck me as odd because I couldn't see the Clutch crowd (who are, from what I've seen, blue collar, hard working folk) wanting to watch a band that wears make up, unless it was KISS . Oh well, we had a great time. Lindberg's took care of us, the crowd was cool as hell—no complaints here. They even had this amazing black velvet of Prince ala Purple Rain in the green room: Just when you thought he couldn't get any sexier, huh? You can almost hear that Windjammer revin

Once again the Clutch fans were a rabid bunch. They have to be some of the most loyal fans I have ever come across. There is a line at the door before we sound check, and that is usually hours before the doors open. Then, when the doors do open, they head right for the merch tables buy everything they can get their hands on, then it's time to double fist beers 'till they turn the lights on. So awesome. The show was in this little dome in a strip mall parking lot: It looked liked someone put the Kingdome in the drier for too long. Oh shit! I almost forgot. Check out this tattoo: Yes, that is Will Ferrell with a tranquilizer dart in his neck. You know—from Old School! F-in' amazing! Probably the best tattoo I've come across in a long time. —Coyle Tour To Live!

These sons-a-bitches really heart some parties. Man, there was some dead drunk people at this show, including, but not limited to, the guy that was one minute standing next to the merch table and the next lying on top of all said merch and the guy face down directly out side the front door. Good times, good times... We spent the day leading up to the show doing all the shit we were trying to do the last couple of days, before everything kept shittin' the bed. Stuff like going to the bank, some grocery shopping and it was decided that my socks needed a washing... All the drama is over (knock on wood), so let's get back to the good stuff. On today's installment of “Meet The Dudes” I would like you to meet guitar player/singer Bryan Giles. Look at him. A loner. A rebel. Like a modern day Charles Bronson—with a soda. Bryan, or as we like to call him “The Snuggle Bandit” is not allowed to sleep next to anyone. This is not our rule, but his, due to the fact that if he is sleeping