Gypsyhawk just wrapped their tour with Mothership, and luckily, the Metal Blade band kept a tour diary for us; the following is the final entry and is as entertaining as the two previous entries were received from guitarist Andrew Packer. Remember, this summer, Gypsyhawk will hit the road with Valient Thorr. Go see them and tell them we said “‘Sup.”
“Hey Ron. I need you to come here a second.”
“I took a bunch of mushrooms earlier and I can’t tune my guitar.”
“Oh shit! Can you even play??”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I just need help tuning my guitar. What comes after E?”
That was in Lake Tahoe at Whiskey Dicks.
A buddy of mine, I can’t remember which, asked about 45 minutes before we were to play if I wanted some shrooms. I don’t know if I have that death wish thing Freud was talking about, but things that are clearly the worst idea at the time come across as the best idea at the time by their very nature of being bad. I guess I like to make things difficult because it makes those things more exciting. Haven’t really thought about it. I’m just a dog chasing cars.
What really didn’t help my situation were the giant white sheets surrounding the back and sides of the stage that an old hippie dude used to project mixed oils and colourful lights. I was in a god damn Jefferson Airplane animation. I felt my amp vibrate through my entire being.
I flew around my side of the stage like a psychedelic hurricane. And I was grinning with excitement at the thought of smashing that new Dean of mine over some drunk kids head that was talking shit to Eric. Needless to say it was the most fun show I had, on this, our March Out Of Winter.
Then again, there was the show in Medford at Johnny B’s.
After loading in, Eric, Art, Kyle, Ian and I went on a walk looking for something to do. Eric and Kelley were playing “Magic: The Gathering,” and scared away the only chicks at Johnny B’s so we wanted to go where the girls were. Around the corner we found some yuppie bar that was full of civilian chicks.
We sat at the bar and were greeted by the bartenders. We struck up a conversation and ordered some drinks. I got an Old Fashion and everyone else got some pink pomegranate martini things (come on, dudes!).
Eventually some of these civilians were drunk enough to come talk to us. They wanted to buy us all drinks, but only Rosier, some kind of pink, fruity wine. I know I just talked shit about the martinis but, hey, this is free booze we’re talking about here.
So after a few of those and some boring chitchat about my tattoos and U2 it was pretty close to show time. The blonde one was slurring like a 3 AM Ron Houser and the brunette had become bold and was trying to tell me how I should be buying her drinks.
“No way, I’m not buying you shit.”
“Yes, yes you are. I just bought you 4 Rosiers, you can buy me ONE drink.”
“No. I’m about to go play a show. Buy me one more and we’ll call it even.”
“What? No. You need to go find my friend. She is drunk. You need to go find her, bring her back, and buy us some drinks. Right now.”
The bartender and I shared a knowing glance.
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
As I walked out the door to make my way back to Johnny B’s I saw the blonde, and was fortunate enough to see her falling straight on her face in front of a bunch of bouncers at da club next door. I walked up to see if she was ok, and the bouncers assured me they could handle it. So, on I went.
But that wasn’t the fun part of the night, although that was pretty fun.
There’s this song of ours called “Commander of the High Forest” that we always close our set with. There’s a quiet build up before my solo. I noticed Kelley rocking out right in front of me. I leaned forward and shouted in his ear, “you’re doing my solo!”
He laughed and hi-fived me.
“I’m not joking, mother fucker.”
Right as the solo was about to start I ripped my guitar off, threw it on Kelley, and pulled him on stage.
He looked at me like I just handed him a shank and told him to “hit that guy.”
“Go! A minor pentatonic!”
And away he ripped! The crowd went nuts. I was so pleased with myself I started dancing like only a drunk white boy can. Then I noticed my beer and pounded the rest of it, just in time for Kelley to finish and hand the guitar back to me for Ron’s solo. There’s video of it somewhere. You can see me mouth “fuck yeah!” when I notice my beer is still there, for drinking.
In Seattle, we shotgunned beers outside Kurt Cobain’s house. I’m a huge Nirvana fan. In fact, I started playing guitar when I was 11 after hearing them for the first time. I cried for days when he killed himself. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is still good to me every time it comes on the radio. But, come on. As soon as I had the idea, I knew it was hilarious, and so did Art, also a huge fan, and if Instagram “likes” are any indication, so did a shit ton of other people.
I forgot to mention in the first blog of this tour that Ian took a shit.
It all started when I realized there was no lock on the bathroom at the club in Sierra Vista, and no stall for the toilet. And I had to take a dump.
I had to take a dump immediately.
So I grabbed Ian and told him to watch the door. No one came in. Unfortunately for Ian, I feel he’s still under a hazing period. When it was my turn to watch the door for him I waited, I don’t know, 45 seconds, before I grabbed Kelley and said, “Hey, you want to see something funny? Walk in the bathroom right now.”
I followed Kelley into the bathroom so I could see his reaction as he opened the citadel to behold the porcelain partnership of toilet and Ian’s Irish hue. Kelley raised his arm and screamed, “FUCK YEAH!! ALRIGHT!!”
I was laughing so hard I had to get out of there. Kelley stayed for at least half a minute more, shouting more encouragement at Ian. When he came out we put our arms around each other and walked away laughing.
I guess that was the wrong thing to do. Three more people walked in on Ian, the last of which had no hang up about pissing in the urinal next to our vexed and bewildered friend with the red hair as he sat and passed from bowel to bowel on his shit stained throne.
This is where I’d like to talk about San Diego. All the deets are in that link so I won’t bother you with anymore. I, personally, blame the bartender. Purple Church should have known better, but they didn’t. We intend to get our money back one way or another.
I’d like to make it clear that everything I say about San Diego is MY OPINION ONLY and does not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of GYPSYHAWK as a whole, nor any of its other members.
FUCK SAN DIEGO.
It is California’s retarded old uncle that the rest of the state doesn’t like to talk about. It molested L.A.’s daughter when she was three, and then started a fight with San Francisco’s sister on her wedding day. San Diego is an old crusty turd in a park no one walks in so no one cares it’s there. How dare it live it in such close proximity to my beloved Los Angeles?
And I felt all this long before the show at The Griffin.
I don’t hate the bar, I don’t hate the bartender, and I don’t even hate Purple Church. I just don’t like San Diego.
The day after that fiasco, we played at The Joint in Los Angeles. It was cool. I think all of Gypsyhawk and Mothership would agree it was one of the most fun nights we had all tour. One highlight, Blake from Workaholics walked up to the stage during “The Fields” and put a shot of whiskey at my feet, pointed at me, then pointed at the drink. He’s clearly a very smart, very wise man, and you all should watch his show.
Well, that just about wraps her up. I want to give a shout out to Big Al in Bakersfield for all the beers, whiskey, steaks, and the acoustic Judas Priest jam session. Drill baby, drill. I wanna hollar at my boy Timbo, AKA, Timber, of PDX. Sorry I told you to die in a fire. I didn’t mean it. I wanna give big props to DiTina. Thanks for mailing Ron’s backpack to Luther. It had “thousands” of dollars worth of stuff in it. Much love to everyone in Austin: you gave us a fine home for a week. Sorry for yelling at you about the parking. Next time we’ll prance in on some ponies.
Respect to Tulsa for all your little puppies and new Nintendo devices. That shit was cool. I wanna give a kiss to Chops and the fine folks at Silver Surfer for the custom Gypsyhawk vaporizer. That shit was dope. A tilt of my hat to Dean Guitars for the Dean guitars. But, hey, where dat bass at?? All in all, thanks to everyone that put us up, fed us, bought us drinks, put drugs in our faces, gave us sloppy drunk kisses, and helped defend good times to the bitter end. But most of all, thanks to our brothers from another MOTHERSHIP. You boys are the best fellas in the world. We shall fly together again.
Look out for Gypsy Ship, landing in 2014, starring Tasty, AKA, Cam Ron G, and yours truly, Awesome Andrew The Pack Daddy. Shit’s gonna get ill, yo. Y’all betta axe someone.
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