MONDOmagazine

Holiday! Celebrate! Commence the self-congratulatory back-patting as soon as the hangover dries up — you’ve made it through another year, and so have we. Not only did we survive, we thrived, and we threw down some pretty badass music criticism, too. We gushed. We sniped. We got ecstatic. We got mean. We waxed nostalgic. We abstracted philosophically. And we actually left our bedrooms to do it.

So, with no ado whatsoever, here are our eight favourite music articles of ‘08:

An Interview with Hawksley Workman by Jake Shenker

An Open Letter to the B-52’s by Bryan Hopton

Nick Cave and Black Mountain in Concert by Peter Gorman

Rasputina’s Oh Perilous World by Kayleigh Girard

Sleepercar’s West Texas by Nathan Hoffman

Sons & Daughters – This Gift by Jess Skinner

Times New Viking Rip It Off by Beej

Why I Hate Liz Phair by Allana Mayer

Black Angels
Directions To See A Ghost
Light In The Attic Records, 2008

By Allana Mayer

Released in April, the appeal of Directions To See A Ghost snuck up on me after a few months of dismissal; I was looking for substance over style, and the Black Angels have tons of the latter but not so much of the former. Not that that’s a bad thing: the sound has an upturned-nose attitude, a gritty, too-cool-for-school style, healthily defiant rather than moodily introspective. The Black Angels are all leather jackets and greased hair and smoking in the boys’ bathroom.

In this world of uncertainty and confusion, when meaning is subjective and fluid, I feel that Directions To See A Ghost most concretely sums up the term “indie-rock” for me. It’s solid rock, dark and brooding yet urgent and passionate. The heavy, prominent basslines scream Stone Roses while the fuzzy lyrics and the deliciously crunchy distortion says Pixies grunge. Psychedelic pedal effects, a tinge of Oriental flavour, and a little bit of 13th Floor Elevators guitar-riffery (and I even hear something like their trademark electric jug noises) round out the sound, but don’t make it psych-rock.

The funny thing about all this attitude is that it actually comes pretension-free — rather than trump up their influences and background, they seem totally childish and naive about the way they sound. I can just see them, in their grotty motel room, ashing on the carpet and slurring out things like “NME can go suck ‘emselves, innit.” (They’re from Texas, but don’t let that fool you.) They sound like they listen to metal but would never admit to it, like Directions To See A Ghost is the sound that should come naturally of teenagers jamming in the garage. Given the sad state of affairs in angry music these days, I can’t help but (belatedly) endorse the notion.

Mark Kozelek
The Finally LP
Caldo Verde, 2008

By Allana Mayer

The Finally LP actually angers me: nothing should ever sound so good while being so seemingly effortless. It’s as though Mr. Kozelek rolled right out of his plush, lacy, pink canopy bed, slipped on his Hello Kitty slippers, and tossed off these ten songs in a single take, in between sips of tea. Bastard.

Although, if anyone could crank out this album in an afternoon, it’d be him. He’s been playing these and other covers for years as part of his incessant touring schedule. His abundantly celebrated history in Sun Kil Moon and Red House Painters means that not even “Send In The Clowns” is off-limits. You hate him for it, because that song should never have made it onto your playlist, yet there it is, and you hardly even notice the silly lyrics because the guitar part is so lovely. Betrayal! Betrayal, I say!

The cover of Low’s “Lazy” is generally agreed to be the standout track. It’s hard not to be — with so little to work with, it’s hard to go wrong. Two lines, one chord progression, and you’re set with instant perfection. And once again I feel tricked, swindled, hoodwinked! His perfectly world-weary voice takes the lines and imbues them with an emotional increase each time, making them so much more than a simple refrain. This ultimate craftsmanship, this sleight of hand and of voice, must be a trick somehow. Songwriting can’t be this easy to excel at; it just can’t be.

Gasp! And then hear what he does to “If You Want Blood”! AC/DC isn’t supposed to sound good, you know.

I just don’t know if I can go on like this. I have to stop liking this album so much. Whatever it takes. Tell me his raspy voice comes from eating babies; tell me the unending sadness in his voice is from wishing McCain had won. Anything.

Warm And Spreading, Like Wetting The Bed
Allana’s Winter Mix ‘08

As a semi-prelude to the best-of-2008 listmaking that’s to come, I introduce my winter mix of 2008 (not necessarily representative of the best-of, mind you). Usually it’s a lot less content from the year at hand, and more a random smattering of whatever suits my fancy, but this year I had a bit of a change of heart. Rather than try to encompass the frigid, frostbitten ways of our frozen North, somehow this mix ended up well on the warm, fuzzy, energetic electronic side. I might just be in denial (as such, this mix has been in progress for three weeks while I weighed my options). But as I write this, I can still see green grass, so let’s just check back in in a month, okay?

Here, have some music.

1. Studio – 2 Hearts (Version by Studio) (from Yearbook 2, 2008)
2. TV on the Radio – Crying (from Dear Science, 2008)
3. Cibelle – City People (from The Shine of Dried Electric Leaves, 2006)
4. No Kids – For Halloween (from Come Into My House, 2008)
5. Akufen – Tournee 1 (from Hawaiian Wodka Party, 2003)
6. Chequerboard – Penny Black (from Penny Black, 2008)
7. Skyphone – All Is Wood (from Avellaneda, 2008)
8. (Smog) – Let’s Move to the Country (from Knock Knock, 1999)
9. Jay-Jay Johanson – I Fantasize of You (from Poison, 2000)
10. Mark Kozelek – Lazy (from The Finally LP, 2008)
11. The Instruments – Ode To The Sea (from Dark Småland, 2008)
12. Bowery Electric – Without Stopping (from Beat, 1996)
13. Dosh – Hit and Pearls (from Wolves and Wishes, 2008)
14. Yann Tiersen – Au Dessous Du Volcan (from Tabarly, 2008)
15. Yann Tiersen – Atlantique Nord (from Tabarly, 2008)

Allana Mayer
Music Editor

(The cover image was gleefully stolen from the photography collection of our own EIC, Rachel Kahn.)

Castanets
City of Refuge
Asthmatic Kitty, 2008

By Allana Mayer

The Castanets, a moniker for Raymond Raposa and a rotating cast of guests, has been pumping out albums almost yearly since ‘03 and touring consistently in between. I have no doubt that travelling across the barren southern states inspired the masterpiece that is City of Refuge. Recorded in a Nevada motel room, it sounds like the last recordings of a dying recluse, one going far before his time.

The music is stark and empty, lonely and fierce. It’s full of bleak landscapes: snow-covered hills, desolate wastelands, or arid deserts. It’s the snarl of Nick Cave and the bluesy howl of Entrance’s Guy Blakeslee. There are religious overtones, hymns, and lullabies, but at the same time a distinctly godless feel pervades the whole thing. I’m sick of referencing Cormac McCarthy when it comes to albums like these, but if this were a soundtrack, it would be for his latest bestseller The Road. And there ARE rumours of a movie in the  near future…

The growled refrain that flows through the album, “I’m gonna run to the city of refuge,” is determined and desperate all at once. It’s a poor, broken man, stooping on his last legs, swaying like a breeze might topple him. All he can see before him is dust, yet he’s certain that somewhere within is a great haven if only he can make it there.

What runs contrary to the type of album that usually pushes these images into my mind is that the many tracks on City of Refuge are short, mostly clocking in under the three-minute mark. Often I’d be describing something post-rocky that builds and swells through at least ten minutes. However, these are tiny little sonic experiments.  For example, the tracks, “High Plain 1,” “2,” and “3″ all have someone scratching a turntable around or looping a single sound. They’re snippets of form such as you would get by endlessly flipping a radio dial, complete with tracks of static, murky reception, and unfocused signals. The Castanets may not come through loud and clear, but their concept does, and their emotions do.

“I’ll Fly Away” is a short blast of defiant, spiritual power, but it seems tragic and withering even as it tries to give power and confidence. The City of Refuge sounds more like a city of refugees, ones who will stay disenfranchised even after they find a home, still wandering though they’ve settled down. This album as a whole is a brilliant accomplishment by someone who, in the past few years, has proven to be a brilliant artist.

(On a much lighter note, there’s a remix album, Dub Refuge, by the producer, Ero Gray. Yes, dub.)

These Arms Are Snakes
Tail Swallower and Dove
Suicide Squeeze, 2008

By Allana Mayer

These Arms Are Snakes hold a special place in my heart. They’re the first band I ever saw in a bar, and the first show I snuck into whilst underage (I didn’t drink at it out of respect). The band made it all the more memorable by destroying the venue’s furnishings: they were larger than life, even as the opening act. Yet nothing since the five-song EP they were touring then has sat right with me. I had almost given up hope, thinking my scream-y hardcore* days were simply over. Now Tail Swallower and Dove is giving me reason to reconsider.

What has the band done to make Tail Swallower and Dove sound so right? They’ve created a sound that is less thrashing doom metal and more palatable hard rock, to start. They haven’t dropped their fidgeting, rebellious attitude: they’ve simply sublimated it into music with more complex rhythms and difficult time signatures, as well as a perfect synthesis of feedback walls and layered guitar harmonies. Lead singer Steve Snere’s voice is clearer than ever, which makes no sense to me as I thought he was destined to scream himself mute back in ought-three. I’m also inclined to steal my “Hardest-Working Drummer Ever” award back from Lightning Bolt’s Brian Chippendale and give it to TAAS’s Chris Common: his rolls are relentless, and his precision is unceasing.

The album does need a bit of attention on the part of the listener.  I recommend using headphones in order to appreciate the killer panning on “Ethric Double” and also to catch a lot of the percussion work. Though I’m not fully confident about what Snere is shouting, I’d say the lyrics resemble those of At The Drive-In: post-apocalyptic, ominous, seething, and full of intrigue and espionage. Album closer “Briggs” is fucking brilliant, with a stark intro that slowly layers into a more subdued piece than usual. That’s not to say I don’t like them screaming and thrashing — it’s just nice to see them add another dimension.

Hey, if I wasn’t telling you, I wouldn’t believe it myself. There’s only one iffy song in the lot, and that’s “Cavity Carousel.” I say so because of the sketchy vocal tracks that are over-processed and oddly melodic. But one instance of bad taste on an otherwise delicious and admirable album can be easily forgiven. It’s good to have them back and to have another album to fall back on when people insist that all I listen to is “that fairy-indie crap.”

*Note: I refuse to acknowledge the stupid genre named “post-hardcore” that people like to use when they refer to TAAS.

No Kids
Come Into My House
Tomlab, 2008

By Allana Mayer

Hey guys, remember P:ano? They were, like, all the rage with CBC Radio 3 and stuff, back in 2005 when they were still doing things. But hey, if three-quarters of what used to be awesome is good enough for you, you should probably check out No Kids.

Okay, that was a bit harsh. And, in fact, against my better judgement, I spent some quality time being completely captivated by debut Come Into My House, which came out in February. I’m still not sure if I’m watching a miraculous birth or a slow-motion train wreck, but there it is. Just ponder this pseudo-genre for a minute and you’ll get what I mean: dance-folk. See?

So here are all the reasons why you shouldn’t love this album: there are plenty of rough moments, attempts to reconcile disparate chunks of song that don’t quite succeed. For their not-quite-a-decade of playing together, Justin Kellam, Julia Chirka, and Nick Krgovich (that’s P:ano minus Larissa Lovya) still haven’t gotten that whole unifying-sound thing down. Songs range from barbershop quartet ditties to gentle whispers, white-boy hip hop to sweeping piano and string sections. The Dirty Projectors have already perfected the quick, bouncy harmonies that No Kids continue to search for, and both Xiu Xiu and Deerhoof have finished the cuteness project that No Kids are still struggling to hand in.

Then there are the reasons to love it: “For Halloween.” No, seriously, this song is everything that is great about pop music. Great fucking beats that are totally out of place, simple samples that just plain work, woodwinds to melt your face off. Almost indecipherable lyrics save those that turn your blood to those kinds of gooey, syrupy candies that make your teeth hurt. Isolated couplets of cute turned out in those crazy note-jumping harmonies — “I know you’re not the only one for me, but you make that awfully hard to see, so I stay in making scrapbooks and going stir-crazy.” Hello, song to play repeatedly on a miserable Valentine’s Day. The elements that make this song so great can be found on other tracks, but to a lesser extent. The lyrical rounds and melody tradeoffs with instruments are nice touches, but I’m glad I’m not tempted to sing along, because I’d fail miserably, and nobody wants that.

Principal vocalist Krgovich seems like Erlend Oye: a frail, sensitive type, yet probably well-endowed. I dunno, there’s just something about the voice that says it. No? Okay. Never mind.

Anyways, good and bad things seem to come in pairs on this album. “Bluster In The Air” and “The Beaches All Closed” are similarly troubled, disjointed pieces, weird amalgams of enjoyable backgrounds and annoying vocals. “For Halloween” makes a good couple in misery with “Dancing in the Stacks,” a delicious slow jam. The opening and closing tracks, “Great Escape” and “The Puddle” respectively, are perfect bookends. And well, there’s the overarching pairing of catchy, addictive songcrafting with clashing elements that come close to painful. Still, I’m calling it a “Hidden Gem” — isn’t that enough for you?

By Owen Nagels

I first saw Feist in Quebec City at the “Festival d’été du Québec” in the summer of 2006. At the time, I didn’t know much about her: only a few songs off her Let It Die album, and that she was once a member of Broken Social Scene. All I remember from that show was being blown away by her vocal and guitar looping styles and being fixated on her entertaining show.

The following year, I saw her for the second time — this time on a bigger stage with a few more musicians and a much larger crowd. Once again, Feist was buzzing with energy, leaving the crowd — and me — wanting more.

The great thing about seeing an artist perform year after year is that you get to watch them evolve. Feist gets more popular by the nanosecond; I’m pretty sure that every time an iPod commercial airs, she sells another record. Those first two shows were great, but last month in Montreal, she was absolutely fantastic. And Feist has now been upgraded to the Bell Centre — a hockey arena that sounds like a cave but seats a ton of people.

Her 90-minute set included songs from all three of her solo albums: songs from Let It Die and The Reminder that made her famous and lesser known songs from her debut album, Monarch. She opened with an a capella rendition of “Help is on the Way” and, armed once again with her trusty loop machines, she captivated the audience from the very first note.

Not only does Feist sound great, she looks good too. Mesmerizing designs from Montreal shadow puppeteer/finger-painter Clea Minaker were projected onto a huge screen at the back of the stage, producing an art show that complemented the music beautifully and captivated the audience until the very end.

Of course, the usual crowd pleasers were played: “My Moon, My Man” and “I Feel it All” got the room buzzing, especially when she ad libbed about Obama bringing an end to the war in Iraq (his big win was still fresh in our minds during this November 5th concert). She continued on with older hits “Gatekeeper” and “Inside and Out” before slowing it down for “Limit to Your Love” and “Honey Honey.” During these slow tunes, Minaker used her finger painting skills to project an animated thunderstorm onto the screen behind Feist, producing visuals so entrancing I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen to look at the musician I was there to see. For her encore, Feist came back on stage, lifted her feet to display the words “Zut Alors” (Québécois for “dammit!”) taped to the bottom of her boots, and played “Mushaboom” and “How My Heart Behaves.”

And then it was over. The audience left with satisfied smiles, and outside, everyone had only one thing to say: this was one of the best shows they’d ever seen. I can’t say I disagree.

Deerhunter
Microcastle
Kranky, 2008

By Bryan Hopton

Deerhunter’s third album Microcastle has been available, thanks to an extremely early leak online, for nearly half a year. I’ve had it since I first discovered this leak, and was later the recipient of a very nice promotional copy of the CD for reviewing. It was awfully nice of them to send it so far in advance, because I have listened to this album approximately 20 times, and am still at a loss for words. Even with countless reviews already hitting the Internet, and mountains of feedback piling up on message boards around the world, I’ve yet to find a suitable way to turn “Holy fucking shit, this is awesome” into a full review.

Now, it would be easy to sit there and say “Your reaction makes me think you’re some kind of Deerhunter/Bradford Cox fanboy who would give any of their releases a glowing review.” I say this because people have said this to me. However, I assure you, dear reader, that this is not the case. When Microcastle leaked, it had been barely more than a year since Cryptograms had come out, and I was already forgetting why I had loved that one so much. In addition to tiring of their second LP quickly, I will maintain to this day that Deerhunter’s debut, Turn It Up Faggot, is one of the worst albums I own. Microcastle, however, is a clear and more focused attempt to define “the Deerhunter sound” — that being hazy atmospherics, swells of guitar noise set against a pop background, and a grab-bag of vocal styles.

This music is the most straightforward and accessible that Deerhunter has released to date; it’s their first album to truly bare itself to the listener. Rather than taking their usual stabs at “indie-pop against a noise-rock backdrop”, we’re served the exact opposite: the band have made an indie-pop record that happens to dabble here and there with guitar noise and swells of feedback. The album is neither as stark and confrontational as Turn It Up Faggot, nor is it as hazy and skeletal as Cryptograms. Even comparing it to its predecessors borders on pointlessness.

Everything here feels more personal. Perhaps the departure of guitarist Colin Mee resulted in a more melancholic band, and thus a more subdued album. But, throughout its course, Microcastle plays out like some kind of murky, art-damaged, Beach Boys record (sans the sugar-sweet vocal melodies, of course). Guitarist Lockett Pundt opens things with “Agoraphobia”, in which he repeats the pleading mantra “Cover me, come for me, comfort me”; the rest of Microcastle follows suit. “Calvary Scars” tells the story of a boy’s public crucifixion; “Little Kids” equates age with dying. Deerhunter withdrew into themselves over 2008 only to emerge, baring their souls, toward the year’s end.

Ultimately, this is going to be one of the year’s most debated records. Individuals who endlessly compare it to Cryptograms will find themselves missing out on a release that is alternately emotional, skeletal, and beautiful in its frailty. Those who are quick to dismiss anything Pitchfork slaps a good review onto will be missing out on what is easily one of the year’s best indie-pop albums. And the people who simply don’t know about it need to be informed. Promptly.

The Week That Was
The Week That Was
Memphis Industries, 2008

By Allana Mayer

The Week That Was, while also the name of a defunct British sitcom, represents Peter Brewis — formerly (“currently?” fans wonder) of Field Music. I went into this album with the naive hope that I would hear another Field Music album, as did many Brewis Brothers fans, I’m sure. This album has the old crew along to assist, but with Peter running the show it just ain’t the same, and we all know it.

My first impression (other than disappointment) was that this sound is much more severe. The first lyric that sticks out is “If I have to learn to learn, where do I begin?” Which seems poignant, if you’re, say, a disillusioned recent graduate, or a disillusioned high-school dropout (the two attitudes are often eerily similar).

Second track “The Good Life” starts with an odd rhythm, and features more heavy percussion as well as some accentuated keyboards, xylophone, and a great synth part. The panning on the drums, and in fact the meticulous attention to the many details that comprise each complex arrangement, is on par with that of my beloved Field Music album, and this is very strongly in favour of The Week That Was. Yet the severity, the negativity, the hopelessness, simply isn’t healthy.

While some parts feel less passionate and more formulaic (emphasized choruses are straightforward rather than sparing; tracks are as short and single-minded as before) the musicianship and talent is still evident, and those string sections are just as moving as ever. Compare these traits to brother David Brewis’s School Of Language project, and you get a neat division of the talents that melded so well before. These parts became greater in sum, however.

“It’s All Gone Quiet” is creepy and unsettling even as it tries to move from dour to optimistic and grandiose. My heartstrings remain untugged. It’s like going from a tearjerking movie to CNN — you should care, but you’d rather just turn reality off and dwell on the fiction. Once “The Airport Line” comes on, your nose is irreversibly wrinkled in dislike for the meaningless refrain and likewise horrible lyrics. And so it goes. Ah well.

Of Montreal
Skeletal Lamping
2008, Polyvinyl

By Allana Mayer

Nietzsche once likened life to a contest and declared that if anyone ever won, we’d have to kill him or her so the rest of us could keep playing. Similarly, a friend handed me a CD last week and told me by way of introduction that the band broke up after recording it — according to him, they couldn’t possibly have written better music than this album, ever, so there was no reason for them to stay together. These counter-intuitive sentiments are upsetting, but justified, in a strange way. And so it goes with Of Montreal: every time they release another album part of me rejoices, but a small voice cries “Why must it go on?!”

I suppose a bit of back story would be appropriate here: Once upon a time a love interest professed his Of Montreal fanaticism, and it became a point of contention between us. This was back pre-Sunlandic Twins, way before the transvesto-pop, the era of “Happy Little Bumblebee,” and I had never really caught on to the cynical, quirky, self-loathing melancholy their songs epitomized. Then our romance went sour (not entirely unrelated). Then, several months later, The Sunlandic Twins came out and I realized how ridiculously good it was, and had to go through this quasi-religious cycle wherein I questioned my beliefs, saw our relationship encapsulated in the obscure lyrical references, loved it, hated it, made myself sick of it. “Requiem for O.M.M. 2″ took me down and “The Repudiated Immortals” brought me back up again. You know the drill: everybody has that band, and Of Montreal is mine. And with the release of Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer, it was all brought back — same skill, same style, same symbolism, same self-imposed torture. “The Past Is A Grotesque Animal” destroyed and “We Were Born The Mutants Again With Leafling” revived. And now here they are doing it again? Why must it go on?!

All this to say that Skeletal Lamping is phenomenal, as phenomenal as their previous dance-y, synth-y, poetic, dirty, hilarious, heartbreaking releases. And I wish they could just shut up and retire already, because now I’ve got three albums (and a newfound appreciation for their back catalogue, of course) to listen to continuously for the rest of my existence, and I don’t need to be consumed by even more opportunities to pick at myself. I’m wary of sitting down and analyzing any of the songs in detail, because this will become even less of a review and more of a confessional: I’ve already hurdled over that line, as it is.

But seriously, Of Montreal, give it a rest. I concede defeat. You won the game, okay?

An interview with Storyteller

By Nathan Hoffmann

When a rock star opens his bank book and realizes his stash of cash is starting to dwindle, it’s time to go back on tour. Playing to the masses is how bands obtain their fortunes. But, for an independent band, touring isn’t the same lavish party the big boys get to enjoy. Instead of the luxury jet, a sold-out crowd at the ACC, and trashing hotel rooms, it’s a crummy old van, a show for six scene kids in a town whose name you can’t pronounce, and using up all the toilet paper of the nice emo girl who’s letting you crash on her floor.

Storyteller, a post-hardcore band from St. Catharines, left for their first cross-country tour on October 17th. I recently sat down with three of the members to discuss the obstacles that face an independent band as they get set to embark on a month-long journey together.

MONDO: You guys are about to depart on a four-week tour from Ontario through BC. Is excitement the only emotion you’re feeling?

Eli: No, there is also fear, confusion, sleepiness, malice, hunger, and jaundice.

JJ: It’s a big build-up of anxiety. I like it and I don’t. It kind of puts an edge on things and keeps you on track.

Dave: I’m very excited but, at the same time, worried. Anything can happen and we’ll be miles and miles away from home.

MONDO: How did you guys hook up this tour? Did you go through booking agents or did you book the shows yourself?

Eli: We are touring with two other bands. We divided the show-booking responsibilities.

Dave: We booked mostly the Ontario dates; The Fallacy (the band we’re touring with) booked from Calgary to Ontario, and another band booked the BC dates.

MONDO: Is it difficult booking out-of-town shows yourself?

Eli: At the moment it is: as we are still a newer band, we had to collect as many show promoters’ contacts as possible. We haven’t played the majority of these cities before, so promoters had to take something of a chance on us. But I think our tasty licks speak for themselves.

JJ: It is pretty much the only thing that can hold us back. Exposure is key and it is very hard to obtain.

MONDO: What are you hoping to accomplish on this tour?

Eli: Have fun, meet new fans, see the country, and see how long I can fend off my body’s desire to bathe.

Dave: As of right now, my goal is just to play my heart out, have fun, and see a part of Canada I’ve never experienced before.

MONDO: How hard is it to balance working and being in a band, in regards to getting time off for touring?

Eli: Well, a month is a long time to take off work. Luckily I have a lot of dirt on my boss. After presenting him with the evidentiary footage from some cleverly placed video cameras, we came to an understanding and he wished me luck.

JJ: I work in a gas station, so work is very flexible for me to book off.

Dave: Not too hard; I booked it in advance and if they didn’t like it, I was going to quit.

MONDO: Tours cost money. Are you concerned about the financial strains a long trip can have? How have you been preparing for this tour?

Eli: I just sold some of my personal artwork, mainly pieces from my hand turkey collection. So I should be good.

Dave: Yes, the band has been saving money from our shows, selling CDs and merch. Each of us also has to bring our own money for expenses on the road.

MONDO: What vehicle are you guys are taking on tour?

Eli: We have a band van. It’s in pretty good shape. The only real problem occurred while driving back from an out-of-town show. Our van stopped working and we were forced to call a tow truck. After explaining the problem to him, the tow truck man attempted to start her up and concluded we were out of fuel.

JJ: We took care of all the necessary needs of the van in regards to repairs, tune ups, and CAA to make sure everything will be the best that it can be.

MONDO: What kinds of stuff are you guys packing to help survive the tour?

Eli: Cold cuts, clothes, movies, baby wipes, sleeping bag, and daily devotionals.

JJ: Clothes, baby wipes, beer, maybe money.

Dave: Other then the necessary clothing, we’re bringing canned food and soup, crackers, and most likely some Kraft Dinner.

MONDO: Four weeks is a long time to be stuck in a van with four other guys. Any worries about getting on each other’s nerves? How do you plan to combat cabin fever?

Eli: That is probably my biggest concern. I have a low tolerance for most of my bandmates, so I told them straight up that if any of them pushes my buttons we are going to throw down.

JJ: We hug it out.

Dave: It’s going to be tough, but I’m sure we’ll get through it.

MONDO: What kinds of things have you learned while being on “weekend tours” that you think will help you during this trip?

Eli: Weekend tours are a joke in comparison.

JJ: We have learned to handle each other a bit more. This tour will definitely help with just getting to know the other members. We will probably have bunch of pow-wows so nobody lashes out on each other. Try to act like a family and all that neat stuff.