RED FANG

So we’re driving across on I-80 when all the sudden this thing comes ploppin’ out of the sky. A real life twister! And don’t start with any of that “Oh that’s just a dust devil…” horseshit because this thing was huge. See those white dots on the bottom left and right? Those are houses. I was waiting to see Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton come running across the road. We were minutes away from having our own “I can’t believe I survived” specials. Then about twenty minutes later we got pulled over for, well, nothing. They originally told us it was for illegal tint, but as it went on it turned out they were looking for “Huge amounts of drugs and cash.” Seeing as none of us wanted a prostate check with a Billy club we kept from laughing in their faces. After searching the van and finding nothing but two half-full piss bottles and ninety-three empty fast food bags they sent us on our way. After a while we stopped to get a sandwich and heard over the radio that there was a extreme weather warnin

Man, I gotta start taking notes. The ‘ol memory is going the way of the pay phone these days, hard to locate and usually soaked in bum grade booze. Let’s see, the show was at The Cactus Club, that place rules, uh— dammit, what the hell happened? It must have been a good one, because I can’t remember a damn thing. —Coyle Tour To Forget!

As I mentioned in the beginning of this tour, we’re kind of a big deal these days and part of that is playing to hundreds of thousands a people a night. That’s why it’s no surprise that we were asked to play at Crew Stadium with Korn, A perfect Circle and a whole other slew of bands that sound exactly like us. At first we were a little put off, these bands had been touring for years and we didn’t want to steal their limelight. It would probably break their little metal hearts to see this arena packed butts to nuts with twenty-thousand Red Heads (On a serious note the term Red Heads is quite possibly the grossest thing that has ever been on this blog). So we agreed to do it, but only if we played first, after the local battle of the bands winner, on the smallest stage of the festival. We like to keep it real! But we still demanded that the gear had it’s own tent… …that there was a salad bar backstage with all our favorite salads: Macaroni, chicken, tuna and potato. And the fixin’s for o

You know what’s stupid? A fifteen-year-old third grader. You know what else? The fact that neither John nor I got any photos from this night. We hung out with Vance , the total badass that mixed our record. But we were to busy hearing stories about hanging speaker systems that were so big they made the ceiling sag to get a photo. We all had real good meals, I could have taken some photos of that, but noooo . We met some real cool people like Jay, Josh and Jake but we didn’t get any photos of them. You know what there is photos of? This: That’s right, the bug covered front end of the van. Man, it’s a good thing this blog is free… —Coyle Tour To Live!

For the love of Pete, Memphis was nothing but a blur of BBQ’d meat and awesome folks. It just seemed to never end. First off there was John: John owns the Hi Tone where we played. Not only did he hook us up in every way possible at the club, but he let us crash at his place as well. He even let us defile his washing machine with a mixture of socks and T shirts that smelt so bad they could gag a maggot. He’s most likely going to have to find one of those teams that clean up after murder scenes to get the smell out of that thing. Sorry Buddy and thanks again. After running errands in the morning we hooked up with our old friend Ryan Brown: Who took us to Payne’s BBQ and this “I can feel it settling in my moobs (manboobs)” pile of awesome: You know your getting some real shit if you see this when you go to piss: (Just realized I used shit and piss in that sentence, that’s pretty ballsy. Would I be an asshole if I somehow got ‘taint in there? What a dick…) Then we had to go check out the S

Is NB even the abbreviation for Nebraska? I’m to lazy to Google it, so it is now, whether you like it or not. Okay then. Since the last time we caught up a lot of stuff went down so I’ll try to fire through this as quick as possible as to not bore the wholly living snot out of ya’. They say you learn something new everyday and while I’m not exactly sure who “they” are, Omaha and the day after did teach me a whole slew of new crap. Some of which I will never forget. For starters, after a few shots my idea of what my doppelganger looks like is just a bit skewed. It looks like one of those before and after “faces of meth” billboards. If you’re reading this, I’m sorry I said we looked alike, hopefully you didn’t go home, draw a hot bath and open a couple veins. I should have know by Aaron’s reaction. Next up, if a girl that looks like this… …walks up, buys a record and is super cool to you straight off the bat, see if you can stay at her house. Chances are she has a super rad apartment, a

Let’s keep this one short. Here are some highlights: The singer from the opening band thanking his Mom for coming out to the show even though “She hates our fucking music” and moments later saying “I went want everyone to move during this song, go crazy, I want to see you punch each other in the dick!” Ghosts Of Glaciers, check them out . A conversation between a group of teenagers outside the club in which a “As long as you get to go first, your buddies boning your girlfriend is okay” agreement was reached. Chris Robinson from Hog Wild in Fort Collins bringing us some of the best down BBQ this side of the Mississippi: Look at that rack of ribs, they’re a foot-powered car and a fur clad roller skating waitress away from a Flintstones skit! —Coyle Tour To Live!

One thing about this tour is we’re not playing a lot of places we normally play. It’s what they call an “off market” tour in the biz. Which is cool with me because I can only blog about the same towns so many times before I start wondering “ Wait, didn’t I already write this?” The low side is most of these drives are off the beaten path, meaning that cell service is like a high schoolers beard, patchy at best. Five years ago this wouldn’t even be a problem, we still knew how to have conversations. But thanks to “smart” phones if we can’t spend hours in our own little Internet worlds, shit starts getting weird. Without access to our favorite viral web garbage we start looking inside the van for it and, the fucked part, is sometimes we find it. What, did you expect us to look out the window at the some of the most amazing scenery on earth or someshit? Yeah right. —Coyle Tour To Live!

Hello there Internet homeslices, it seems like only yesterday I was figuring out different ways to complain about driving. Now we’re back at it again, but this time around everything is different. How you ask? Well maybe you’ve heard of a little record called Murder The Mountains? That’s right that sucker has sold so many copies it’s been certified triple balsa! Gone are the days of slumming around the countryside in a van sharing the roadways with the commoners, we’re taking to the air. And we aren’t flying coach either, we bought Wonder Woman’s invisible jet—then had it dipped in space gold. Oh, and did I mention that the plane is completely staffed by Brazilian supermodels wearing nothing but bikinis made of fruit roll ups? I just wanted to let you know because gone are the days of approachable, every day Joe, drinking buddies Red Fang. Nowadays to even buy a t-shirt you’re going to have to talk to my agent. Get used to the sight of this: Because we always have somewhere cooler to b

Hot DAMN, Portland!!! Your commitment to partying is astounding. We wanna thank all of you so much for joining us in celebrating the release of Murder the Mountains - we couldn't have hoped for a better crew to rage with! And extra special big ups to Mongoloid Village , Lord Dying , and Drunk Ladies - great friends, great bands. We are hitting the road next week for some killer tours , so we won't see you for a while, hometownies. Thanks for the great send off - let's party in the fall when we get back!