We go on the road with Chicago punk-rock band The Howl for their first tour outside of the US. We join the band’s guitarist/vocalist Sam Porter, who gives us a first-hand account of life on the road. Joining him are fellow band mates drummer John Garrison, bassist/vocalist Ryan Grillaert, guitarist/vocalist John Shotwell and Chris Bauer (responsible for good vibes). Here’s their new installment of Tour Life. All photos by Alan Chen.
May 30, 2015
“The Fear of Wasting Your Life.”
It’s spray painted in thick, black letters on the overpass above us. It is 80 degrees out on a cloudless day in Ohio. We are officially back in the Midwest and we are speeding down the Ohio turnpike en route to Columbus where we are playing tonight.
Eating breakfast out of the van. Bethlehem, PA.
Back in the Midwest, there is an undeniable familiarity that I feel. I’ve noticed on our tours to the south, the west and the eastern United States, how diverse and unique the personality and the social cues in different regions of the country.
Somewhere in Ohio.
My view of this is obviously biased, since I’m partial to the Midwest. The East Coast feels blunt and hard in its language and personality – a brutally honesty language that I limp through in conversation. West Coast life has always appeared bubbly and romantic; a cornucopia of unconditional love and kindness, though it would seem that that love is very limited and often times not genuine beneath its dreamy veneer. It is nice to be nice, simple as that.
Somewhere in between, the Midwest sits, humble and hesitant in its desire to love and be loved. A steady, hardworking community that seems to offer love and friendship openly but yearn for it endlessly.
Lunch on top of the van in Pittsburgh, PA.
The past handful of shows had been decent. Though as a whole, this tour has been less fruitful than others. Partly because we are touring with another band (splitting payouts) and partly because we are playing in cities that we’ve never been to before. Pittsburgh was very kind to us in our first time there. And I felt charmed by its hilly landscape and industrial bones.
The following day, we had big plans to find a go-kart racing track somewhere in Ohio. On our way out to Cleveland, we stopped off to visit the fine folks at Earthquaker Devices– an effects pedal company based out of Akron, OH. They gave us a grand tour of their workspace and invited to us to try out their effects pedals, which we hovered over giddily for a few hours making horrible noise.
Playing with the motherboard at Earthquaker Devices HQ – Akron, OH.
Giving everyone’s mind and body a break from the constant companionship/lack of personal (physical and mental) space is pretty important on tour to keep sane. Especially when a tour is not going well, these tiny grievances can accrue on the shoulders of the band, ending in explosive late-night arguments over petty things like “who moved my bag” and sleeping arrangements. Such brilliant minds are reduced to such primitive arguments under pressure.
Alan and Ryan drinking Lager in a children’s bedroom where we slept – Lancaster, PA.
Doing things like go-karting every once in a while is essential on tour, probably the best part. It is odd though, how much time you can spend bored driving state to state behind the wheel of a van, then as soon as you put me in a tiny go-kart that runs loudly at 25mph in an oval, driving is suddenly a blast.
Go-karting dudes in Ohio.
When we toured the west coast, we did about 10 dates with a band called Soccer Babes, who we all grew very warm towards. It was a very special time for all of us, and one not easily forgotten. When you are a kid and you’re making friends on the playground, friendship is very easy, and seems to just fall together. You become friends with very little objection or reservation aside from kindness and fun. When we grow older, we tend to carry around all of this baggage and these fears. Things that are hardly digestible. Things that get buried deep inside of ourselves and shape into little walls that make us hard to know, harder to love. I really connected with the SB dudes on that tour, and learned a lot about myself. When we were in Manhattan on this tour, we did a little acoustic rooftop session and I did a cover of one of my favorite songs by them.
We made great friends in Cleveland. We played with a band called NOPE, who we immediately hit it off with (possibly a bit of that Midwest thing I was talking about earlier). We ended up crashing with them. That night was admittedly pretty awesome and blurry for me. I remember being in an attic listening to the new NOPE record, which is killer. I remember Joe being naked and covered in lipstick and eating spiders right out of their web. Today, we are moving slowly.
This is a “small” fry from Ellie’s Original Hot Dog Shop in Pittsburgh, PA.
Two more dates until we are home. Summer is in full swing with its Slurpees and swimming. And while I can’t wait to be home again, conquest has always fit me better than comfort.
Summer.
May 25, 2015
The beginning of this tour left us scrambling, trying to get in the swing of things but not really succeeding. Our first six days of touring gave us three days on and three days off, so finding any sort of rhythm or groove was difficult. Usually at the beginning of a tour, the song feels like eight separate songs and slowly melds into one long piece. I think there’s an art to making a good set list, keeping momentum and direction but giving the audience a place to find rest, like negative space in painting.
We torment John over coffee.
Our days off kept us in good spirits and good company, spending a day in Boston with our good friend Rico (of The Young Leaves fame), concluding with some back-porch grilling at sunset and Alan tattooing Rico’s ankle as compensation for feeding and housing us. Something that I’ve always loved about touring in a band is how much it reinstates my faith in humanity. There is so much good in the world, and so much good in other people. It always seems to show itself when you really need it.
Rico takes us skateboarding in Jamaica Plain, Boston, MA.
Rolling down the coast, we hike to the summit of Sleeping Giant State Park in Connecticut before connecting with some old friends who we were playing with that night. A year ago, the first time we toured the East Coast in the United States, we played a series of shows that were really essential in our bands growth. This tour has been a mini-reunion of sorts with all of the people and places that were involved in that time.
John and Ryan sneak some lunch before load in at Leftfield in NYC.
In Connecticut, we play with our friends Dear Pines, a fantastic punk band fronted by audio-extraordinaire and master-tinkerer Tyler Bisson. We crash on Tyler’s floor (not the first time) comfortably. Tyler and his girlfriend Chelsea house a lot of touring bands, they even have a special shelf of shampoo and soap just for bands to use when they sleep over. This amazes me.
Complimentary soaps and shampoos for bands in Connecticut.
Our weekend is spent wandering around New York City. We are finally joined by our good friend and traveling companion Joe, who will be with us the rest of the tour. Joe is an enthusiastically unforgettable illustrator who is most commonly found kissing someone he shouldn’t be, or sitting behind our merch table. Needless to say, we’re always happy to have him. The shows in NYC are decent, as to be expected. But it has never gotten easy for me to shake off a poor turnout.
The Howl’s ‘Your Other Left’ – a new song, exclusive to Soot for your listening pleasure!
Being in a band goes up and down. There are days when I am beaming and confident in what I am doing. Believing in myself and my band fully. Nights like that, my heart scrapes against the stars, the pounding of my chest drowns out the calculated noise of financial peril associated with DIY touring. It feels genuine, it feels adventurous. At the same time, there are moments when I question what in the hell I am doing here. In truth, the 10-hour drives to play empty rooms with no pay can make it difficult to keep the faith; to stay steady. However, there has never been a shortage of people who have backed us with their unwavering support. Perhaps what we have is something special, something magic.
Playin’ piano some morning in Skowhegan, Maine.
It is hard for me to detach my ego from my art at times. If we play a bad set, I feel weak and vulnerable, possibly ashamed. It is hard for me to pretend that I am having a good time when things go sour. I’m sure that many artists can relate to the self-consciousness associated with bad performance. Your art is an extension of who you are in the moments of your life. In strength and in weakness. During performance, you are wide open and revealing yourself. Sometimes it can appear ugly, and you feel ugly inside. I begin to worry, and question the direction that I am heading in, that I am leading my friends in. Is this the way we should be going? Questions unanswered, we leave the city happy, caffeinated and full of dumplings.
John and I at Vanessa’s Dumplings in Brooklyn, NY.
We are driving quietly through New York State towards Pennsylvania. It is two in the morning. We do not know where we are going to sleep tonight. The dark silhouettes of hills in the Mid-Atlantic landscape tower around us as we drive. I pretend that they are massive waves, swarming in to crash down upon our tiny silver raft. As the white lines race past me, I see a pair of motorcycles in the distance. Two travelers. I wonder about their trip. Like us, they are experiencing the late night Pennsylvania landscape and its tireless black sky. I wonder if they are moving towards a place or away from one. I wonder if they know where they are sleeping tonight.
Room we stayed in (Skowhegan, Maine).
I navigate a van of precious, dreaming passengers from exit to exit looking for lodging at “America’s Best” and “Quality” Inns that flash ‘No Vacancy’ in our sleepless eyes. It is Memorial Day weekend, so everywhere is booked. We press towards Lancaster. Exit 15, 16, 17. All are full. We find a motel thirty miles out in Bethlehem, PA listed as a “Motor Lodge”. Sundowner hums over the stereo as we pull into the lot and kill the engine. Two of us go in, hiding what a large group we have to dodge costs. We’re greeted by a tiny, ancient Indian woman in a hijab named Kamal that is crouched behind a pane of glass. $66.00 gets us a key and a late checkout. The motel is seedy but sleep-able; probably only seeing travellers like ourselves, Memorial Day drinkers and 2AM check-ins. No constant companions or caretakers aside from Kamal and her husband behind the desk, who have somehow ended up here of all places in space, time and culture.
The six of us sneak into the room and set up camp on the thinly carpeted floor. A faded poster on the wall of our room reads “Musikfest ’89– Bethlehem, PA”. Exit after exit of no vacancy for our little troupe, and we wind up in cramped room in the town of Bethlehem. That’s not a punchline, I didn’t make that part up.
Alan and Conrad enjoying pizza in Skowhegan, Maine.
May 20, 2015
Leaving Chicago always seems to feel like you are swimming against a current. There’s some sort of elastic force that keeps you within city limits. As we drove sleepily and steadily towards Montreal, you can feel the tension break at the Illinois/Indiana border, the infinity ahead of you with home in your hindsight.
Waiting to enter Canada. Photo credit: Alan Chen.
Our first show of the tour was at a small dive bar that we’ve grown to love outside of Detroit. It was booked last minute, Pairing In Exile and The Howl with some Michigan country bands. Odd but interesting, as many shows tend to be in the youth of a touring punk rock band. None the less, we were happy to have a show to put some gas money in our pockets to propel us to Montreal, Quebec for Pouzza Fest.
This is our first time touring internationally as a band. We were over-prepared and nervous to cross the border, but got in with no search and no problems.
Outside the front of L’Exit, Montreal. Photo credit: Alan Chen.
There are five of us currently on this trip. Four musicians and one friend/merch guy/photographer/guy-who-holds-stuff/emotional support companion (his name is Alan) travelling together. Alan is a tattoo artist from Chicago and he’s been my best friend since we were in high school but this is our first time touring together; his first glimpse into a world that consumes a lot of my life. An important thing to share first-hand with loved ones who only hear tour stories over the phone.
Our silver van next to In Exile’s van parked outside where we slept. Photo credit: Alan Chen.
The five of us, though very different, make for a very solid team. Touring in a band can get pretty rough at times. It can be trying to stay positive, motivated and grateful all of the time. All of us were in Boy Scouts when we were young (some for weeks, some for many, many years). The Johns are both Eagle Scouts. It only recently occurred to me that this might be a pretty helpful pre-requisite to being in a touring band. Both require you to work well in a team, and equip a skill-set of hard work, preparation, gratitude and a thirst for adventure. Both require sleeping bags.
A drum circle in Montreal. Photo credit: Alan Chen.
Our stay in Montreal was spent wide-eyed and sleepless, jay-walking from venue to venue palming tiny schedules and Pouzza Fest maps that we were granted upon registration for the festival. Montreal is a very European-feeling city. There’s a lot of wonderful public art, great parks and vibrant community of people who seem to possess a vitality like nowhere I’ve ever seen. I wondered whether or not Pouzza Fest was the reason for all of the cities celebration that weekend, but looking around, I noticed that MOST folks didn’t have any Pouzza wristbands on. This was your typical weekend in Montreal, and it was fun as hell.
The registration desk for Pouzza Fest. Photo credit: Alan Chen.
Our first “major” punk rock festival was very successful and I think that we all took away a lot from the experience. Looking out over the crowd during our set at TRH-Bar (a Montreal dive adjourned with a half pipe and bowl as well as two floors and two bars), it was a surreal experience to recognize over half of the crowd packed inside. Our set was like a giant family reunion of all of these bands and people that we’ve met all across the country as a touring band. Chicago was there. Richmond was there. Toronto. New Jersey. Quebec. Boston. Our timeline as a band all condensed into one small room like a kinetic snapshot of our community. What an amazing thing to be a part of.
Pouzza Fest does a good job of keeping bands connected with fest-only events like Press Parties (free rum, beer and coffee!), The Stomp Records “Hangover Brunch” (Vegan Scramble) and Merch Mall. We made a lot of really solid friends and connections in new cities we have yet to venture to, it was a really unique opportunity to network your band to people from all over the continent.
John cures his hangover with a vegan brunch. Photo credit: Alan Chen.
By Saturday evening, both In Exile and us had played our sets in Montreal and we had a day and a half to do pretty much whatever we wanted, yielding some pretty varied results. Between our blurry and drunken Saturday, losing keys, getting separated, being locked out and sleeping on the floor of a girl’s home who we met on Instagram, finding vegan poutine with Typesetter, riding rental bikes around Montreal, free beer, free weed, no sleep and too much caffeine – we reconvened Monday morning to head state-ward. We’ve already packed in about as much activity for an entire week of tour and we still have two more to go.
Back in the States, we wound through Upstate New York’s dirt roads towards the rural town of Skowhegan, Maine, to a DIY loft space that we play to a handful of kids outnumbered by their parents. I’m pretty pumped on the shows we’re playing and the company that we’re with. Tonight offers us some beds and more than enough floor space, none of which will be taken for granted as we all sprawl ourselves out. Tomorrow, who knows. Excitement awaits. Until then!
“We’re getting the band back together!” With In Exile outside our sleeping quarters in Montreal. Photo credit: Alan Chen.
