RED FANG

This is suppose to be the blog post where I talk about all the insanity that happened when we got home, showing the rest of the bands on tour how Portland does it and the like. You know, dragging them through the underbelly of the Rose City, the strip clubs with the pregnant girls and topless eighty-year-old waitresses, the back alley after hours clubs where shots are served by a one-eyed Russian named Juan and a early morning panic filled cab ride to a “animal hospital” with a secret back door. But, alas, we were all so tired that most of us were asleep in our own beds before the show even ended. Rock n’ Roll! —Coyle Tour To Live!

House parties: As a teenager it was all we lived for. You and a hundred of your closest friends crammed into a cat piss scented basement or cleared out living room, trying to put down as many beers as you can before they get warm and/or your asshole friends that only brought one tall can start bumming them off you, hoping that the band you came to see will get to play before the cops show up to shut it down and being really stoked that it’s not your house when you notice the underage girl rolling around in a pile of her own sick on the kitchen floor. We’ve been missing all that, so when our friend Jessica told us the building she was living in was getting demolished and she wanted to go out in style, it was on. We also took the opportunity to film the performance part for the new video in the same spot, which almost shot us in the foot. The filming took place from about 12:00-4:00 and by 1:00 the cops were already there. Just due to the playback over the crappy speakers hooked up to...

Okay, we’ve been back for a couple weeks, the boys played a show April third at Berbati’s. John took a two part crowd shot: The School Of Rock opened up for them, you ever seen those kids? Pretty damn amazing… Anywho, the question I have been asked the most since getting home is “Glad to be back?” to which I usually reply something along the lines of “Oh yeah, that was a long one” or some crappy canned response similar to that, and it’s true, I am glad to be home—sorta. No one can deny there is nothing better than sleeping in your own bed (with or without your girlfriend/boyfriend) but this whole “work” thing is for the birds. I would rather make ten bucks a day and come home smelling like a bum fart than make four times that (you read that right, up to FORTY dollars) a night and come home smelling like someone else’s dinner. Besides that, I am really trying to get in the habit of writing more and nothing gets the juices flowing like the road, while nothing can suck them straight out o...