#new york

21 May 2009
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You’re gonna meet some gentle people there

We’re back in San Francisco after NYC Popfest. The Bell House show was a blast last Saturday! Thanks to everyone who made it out to the show. It was the first gig with Yoshi on drums and it went off without a hitch. Awesome bands. Awesome crowd. Awesome weekend.

We found some recaps of the show for those who weren’t in NYC:
Brooklyn Vegan
Chromewaves
Chromewaves [great photo page here]

And don’t forget SF Popfest this weekend. Should be lots of fun. Three Imaginary Girls has done a SF Popfest preview podcast. Check it out.

23 Jun 2006
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Leaving on a jet plane

Friday, June 23–NYC

I get to fly home, which is unfair but logistically necessary. The fact is, I am a bit jealous of what the boys will do without me–shocking. I figured I’d be waving and cackling, “Suckers!!!” as they dropped me off at JFK.

My last pre-departure event, marking the threshold between tour and my “real life,” is having lunch with my good friend Valerie. I meet her uptown, at Django, where her brother is executive chef. He styles us with an outrageously decadent four course meal. I really could cry with joy over the food and the company.

We are so grateful for the staggering generosity of all of those who aided and abetted on this tour: Yoshi, Zach T., Mom, Dad, Mikey, Meghan and Jake, Crystal and Mary, Andrew and Claire, Alex, Jeff, Ben, Zach, Val and Andrew, Ellen SBG, and all of our friends and supporters in each city who came out to see us play. And, as always, our #1 booster, Mr. Charlie.

Things I have learned:
1) Freaking out is never the solution.
2) I will forget #1 every time.
3) Nothing is ever entirely good nor bad.
4) Seeing #3 as a relief is the most useful perspective.
5) Money is a trick; it is impossible to put a price on most things that matter—such as hospitality, creativity, support, fun.
6) I trust my brother more than anyone in the world.
7) Having Mike along was a huge blessing, although I think he is crazy for coming.
8) True generosity or kindness (as in #7) is always a bit baffling, but that’s the beauty of it.
9) Most things worth experiencing are totally unreasonable, impossibly inefficient and labor intensive. For example: love, friendship, being in a band.
10) Going on tour is an utterly insane thing to do. See #9.

Thanks for reading, everyone. Over and out.

Love,
Heather
June 23, 2006

23 Jun 2006
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I’m going back to New York City, I do believe I’ve had enough

Thursday, June 22–NYC

Have you ever noticed that when you have to pee badly, it gets ten times worse right as the bathroom is in reach? Then the key sticks in the front door lock, just to amplify the panic? That is how I feel.

I’m not sure whether to be distraught that my voice is screwed for our final show (in New York no less) or be grateful that it has lasted this long. I launch a campaign to minimize talking for the whole day, which is boring and makes me feel antisocial, turtle-ish.

We roll out of Philly around one, much later than expected, stung by the US’s defeat against Ghana. This late departure means no tourism in New York, but since I’m trying to minimize both energy and vocal expenditures, it’s probably for the best.

We make a logistical error and end up sitting in a coffee shop for 90 minutes, just hoping one of Nick’s old roommates comes home to let us in their apartment, so we can clean up before the show. I keep whispering to the boys, “We only have to stay alive for four more hours.”

At the club, we find out we’ve been pushed back an hour, which soon becomes two hours. While the boys talk to their friends, I lay in the sweltering car in front of the club. People are leaning on it, smoking, yelling outside the windows, but I’m trying to nap and stay calm, not to talk. I feel like I’m set on a timer and when it goes off, I will collapse like a rag doll. The duration of the timer is mysterious. Thus each delay makes me very nervous.

Finally, it’s time.

Lots of friends come out for us, and even though I have a hard time singing, I don’t care because people are cheering us on. It may not be the best technical show we’ve done—and our set get cuts short by the sound man due to the behind schedule–but it’s the wildest show energy-wise. Afterwards, Nick and I hug and I wonder why we don’t do that after every show. We did it we did it we did it we did it.

23 Jun 2006
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Hot Shit

Tuesday, June 20–Buffalo/NYC day off

Buffalo to New York is longer than I think, but once we emerge from the Holland Tunnel, the city lights are energizing. Nick is the most competent driver I’ve ever met, swerving expertly and narrowly missing cab after cab. We pull in front of his old apartment around 9 o’clock and go to dinner with his old roommates. Mike eats a double cheeseburger, just to fully cement the stagnant load in his colon, which is growing so enormous, we had considered declaring it at the border. I feel for our dinner guests, since our level of discourse has devolved. We talk shit—literally–most of the time.

My second glass of wine knocks me out; my body is obviously spending most of its resources keeping me upright, leaving little left over for the processing of alcoholic beverages. The walk home is nice, but New York is starting to stink. The first time I ever came to New York was at this same time of year, June, with my college boyfriend. We were hanging out with a bunch of friends in a downstairs bar, and this older Russian guy kept forcing us to drink shots of vodka. I started stealthily pouring them into the pockets on the pool table, but my boyfriend wasn’t so lucky. Leaving, we all waited for him at the top of the stairs to the street. A garbage truck idled out front, and being fresh from Colorado, I was shocked by how foul the city smelled: everything hot, fetid, and reeking. My boyfriend finally stumbled up the stairs, took one deep sniff, and puked everywhere.

And that’s the truth, ththtpppppt.

20 Jun 2006
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Buffalo Soldiers

Monday, June 19–Buffalo

We hit Tim Hortons one more time on the way out of Canada. The landscape at the border is unbelievably beautiful, eerie with inlets and small forested islands. Crossing the border makes us very nervous, and as we’re driving away I can’t find our IDs. I pull over panicked and Nick and I explode into a huge fight from the buildup of stress over the last two weeks. It’s ugly, and afterwards I feel inexorably lonely.

Mapquest has a tragically incorrect entry for the club in Buffalo (the club has written 6 letters to the website trying to get it corrected) so we end up in a grandma neighborhood about 15 miles from the club. This is probably the only time bad directions are a relief, as it means we are not playing a show in a remote patch of ranch houses just off the highway.

We set an all-time record for the longest navigational/logistical goat rodeo. Our ETA for the club is 6PM; we roll in at 8 and they want to know where we’ve been. I’m begging telepathically, Please just be nice to us, or I’m going to completely lose my shit. And the wish is granted. We meet the other performers, Marianne Dissard and Naim Amor and their bands, who are just lovely, lovely people in all ways. The club is dark and sexy, very chic, and has a backstage where I can clean up. They’ve scheduled the night as a Francophilic extravaganza, as Marianne and Naim and both French singer/songwriters (via Tucson).

We play perhaps the best we’ve played all tour, and even if the audience is sedate, more prepared for Marianne and Naim than our garagey wailings, they are warm and kind. The Soundlab is my new favorite club (I’m fickle, I know).

Afterwards, we ask some local boys about Buffalo’s famous bands—they list Goo Goo Dolls, Rick James, Mary J Blige, and then tell me about some local band named, like, Fx7 that beats up other bands as a pastime, a second arena of distinction and talent. This is an exciting prospect, since our combined band weight is under 250.

As I’m walking back to the hotel alone, a cab driver honks and slows down. Suddenly, it dawns on me he thinks I’m a hooker, in my red lipstick, black dress, and sequined vest, so I flip him off (like that’s the international ‘I’m not a hooker’ signal).

In the morning, I get called a “dickhead”—by a woman!!–when I walk in front of her car as she’s trying to park. The streets of Buffalo and I are evidently having issues.