Wednesday feb 7 2007, Minneapolis Minnesota
I arrive in the am on northwest into Minneapolis, and man are we in the greater, whiter north. All I can say is that new york is like Barbados at the moment in comparison to this scheisse. But hey, it/s winter in Minnesota!
In the cab, to the hotel, in the room , and all that jazz, I set about to having the most productive day in yonks even in battling a prehistoric internet connection and a microwave that predates Jeffrey dahmers cannibalism. As it stands, egveryone is in the air and potentially on time. So much so, that I have to turn down t wolves tix in a battle of the cellar dwellers v golden state.
Everyone arrives in good spirits despite battling 24 hour tropical nasties at home. We are finally get on the submarine, 11 men on a bus, coming to your town soon. The mood is anticipatory, as james says, ‘lets sell the fucking album’. After some brief formalities, most of the mob head off in the sky way to look for a beer and burger joint. I go and actually run two miles and have a swim before being bounced from the Jacuzzi by drunken denizens of a former soviet republic that would not go amiss on folsom street in September. I am out of there quicker than a boris yeltsin drink order at the g-8 summit, and back to the shack for duke v north Carolina, a nail biter, before settling into some law and order, my sleeping pill of choice. Ready for the first day of world domination.
Thursday feb 8 1st avenue, Minneapolis, mn SOLD OUT
So here it is, day 1, finalmente, and we are all down for breakfast, a free breakfast in our very bizarre yet charming downtown hotel. And I have to say, to a man, everyone is eating oatmeal, which makes me think, that since this is zivich/s bday, that oatmeal may come in handy later in the day.
So it is back to the shack, I managed to crawl a mile or so on the treadmill, fire off a few more emails, rally the troops on the bus and take marty and james to a radio station in the boon docks who was severely lost from block one, prompting me to offer to drive. After much rigamarole, we make it there with police escort(you got me runnin’), the lads knock it out in 5, we get an intern escort back. And man, everything has arrived but a lone Gibson el capitan bass. Conrad is our host once again, and it is familiar faces all over. We have to face our first soundcheck party today, and it aint easy considering half our shite is broken due to the cold, and when I say cold, I should preface the whole days doings by adding , 20 below. You get the picture.
So the boys fight through it, the cold, the anticipation, and the eagerness. The general consensus amongst all of us is, lets do this thing. And do it we did.
The vibe in the room is electric, and the club has done their gosh darnedest to usher them in from the bitter cold. Everyone is ready, as one punter gleefully shouts, ‘we/ve waitied two 2 fucking years for this’ during the intro to sleeping lessons. Zivich and I are on scrim duty, and man, we nailed it. What ensues is 90 minutes of indie bliss, everyone knows all of the words and the biggest knuckleheads in the room are reduced to joyous shouts. And I fail to mention the fact that viva voce came out and completely nailed the people to the floor, the family robinson left em gobsmacked. What a bill!
Afterwards, the customary post prandial patrons, its as if the guys just won game 1 in a best of 7, a well earned victory against a formidable , fickle opponent. As the boys come off the stage, a very unassuming Youngman subtly states, ‘the entire state of Minnesota is proud to have you start your tour here, thanks’. Pretty groovy.
And the night does not finish there, as it is zivich/s bday and we are off to o/donovans for car bombs, van Morrison, autograph sigining, car bombs, makers mark, roadie escorts, u2, car bombs, autograph seekers, friendly cocktail waitresses, more u2, and finally we have to get the flip out of there and crawl into our respective bunks and hammer down to Milwaukee for round 2 of this heavyweight title match. Displaced at number 2 from some chancer from American Idol, what the f*7k is wrong with
