First Blog Post, Pisha Tour Diary
welcome to the moral crema blog
To make the posts more accessible, and more blog formatted, we’ve moved the newsletter over to Substack. Our first post is by core collective member Pisha
Luc asked me to do a travel diary last time I was on tour but I was too overwhelmed as it was my first time on tour and I was too busy trying not to freak out the first half of it then too busy trying to soak it all in the second half.
Jan 13 / reflection on the gig in Dallas
Day off and a long drive to San Antonio.
Quick update: our original plan to enlist the driving help of a friend of Courtney’s fell through and my father is behind the wheel with a Ritalin and testosterone supplement fueled road rage and hilarious detachment that can only be found in the proto punk spirit of ex hippies and woke 70 somethings. So he’s rocking us round in a rental car that is smaller than advertised. Sometimes quite risky driving as Texans like everything bigger: especially their entitlement to the road, and my father truly doesn’t give a fuck.
Yesterday was almost as turbulent as dads nauseating driving. As I struggle to wake up, courtney is on the phone with some bullshit drama from Texas music scene promotors. It’s unimportant to recount all the details(as I the last thing I want to do is give some promotors in Texas more of my precious time by recounting their petty addled drama), so TLDR; the promoters didn’t promote so we asked them to promote (what exactly is your job again?) which apparently hurt some guy named Johns ego so they strike back with a pitiful lie that the venue pulled our show to lack of ticket sales, convenient after the mean spirited embarrassing text he sent Courtney . She calls the venue and confirms it’s a lie. After 5 phone calls she secures a new venue with the help from the sound guy who was hired for the original gig and worked at the former venue.
We pull up at about 7pm to a warehouse next to a dusty pink hotel we were advised to avoid. The inside of the warehouse is decorated with spray painted naked fairies and ambient diy psychedelia, stuffed animals fastened to walls, worn in couches, and young bohemians decorated with nervous smiles and evidence of hard living. The sweet characters, train hoppers with nouns for names (Cable, Doughnut, we love you and dad says hello) and face tattoos that say they’ve seen a lot of shit. I (jokingly) threaten the crust punks that my dad is harder than any one here and I’m gonna be pissed if he’s not respected as such. They happily agree and flock to him like mother goose as they all share the folk tales that make up the myth of the men huddled in that spray painted warehouse.
People start rolling in a Motley Crue of more crust punks, to e girls and e boys in reclaimed gothic regalia. A smoke circle quickly forms in the couched corner. One guy falls asleep on the couch in a born again hoodie stylized with the Korn backwards R.
The show starts with Doughnut opening with a nod to an old form of folk songwriting storytelling that reminds of early American hobos that came before.
Next is the aptly named Wayside Motel (band) who have a refreshing blend of galloping bass lines and screamo es que vocals that are still very accessible. You can tell this outfit is the sum of its very individualistic parts.
Before going on for what’s been my worst set in a while I made friends with a photographer Michael Reeves who kept up with us through the venue change and seemed to appreciate the rag tag group that represented Dallas DIY including ourselves. A stylish California transplant, Q (@evil.himbo on ig) bought one of my handmade teeth ring earrings I was peddling and we chatted and eventually I gave him a white claw. On stage I couldn’t hear myself and suffered thru a lot of feedback. Whatever I gave it all my energy anyway.
Coatie Pop closed the show with their usual unmatched energy and effortless coolness. Despite the faulty sound system (that totally tripped me up earlier) they managed to enrapture the listeners. Though the audience was small, moments like these stick with a person longer as a listener or friend to be or curious on looker / distant supporter. At the end of the night everyone was more sentimental than when we started and considering we had just spent 7pm-12:30am together it made sense. Dad had a lot of street cred and adoration there. We were all tired, we exchanged merch and contact info and hugs and gratitude and smiles.
I am thinking of situations when you spend 5 hours with perfect strangers in a confined space and all the bonding you can do in that time. Maybe a flight… I don't have the energy to wrack my brain for other instances but it’s one aspect I love about music and how communal it is for both the players and attendees. When you’re sharing a performance space it really is a magical thing.
I love performing more than anything. Not for the attention from others but the meditative attention I give myself. I’m a bit of a lazy and introverted person so being on stage comes with a pressure to give undivided attention to a sort of alter ego and a break from my narcissistic anxious psychobabble that populates my normal day to day.
Today I’m tired and nauseous and craving alone time. Luckily the tour party knows me well and doesn’t take my silence personally. I’ve spent the day in the car reading about Blixa Bargeld and Anita Lane and some of Henry Rollins' tour diaries. Far more interesting than this one perhaps.
We walked around the San Antonio river walk and got some food. We saw the Alamo. Apparently I have an ancestor who fought there.
I awkwardly gave John Holstrom one of my tapes and gave him the wrong date to an upcoming gig. Luckily my friends are playing that venue that night so maybe he’ll see them lol.
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