Wednesday September 18

7th Street Entry, Minneapolis MN
The Queers, The Smugglers, Dillinger Four
This was another hard night as we had to play two shows -- one early all-ages and then a later bar show. Like New York, we had to dig deep for the energy to pull off that second one and once again it was one of the best shows of the trip. The winner of the kiss was a big brute and once again it was me who had to kiss a man's naked, wet, sweaty, stinking, fat ass. Whew! The dance contest winner was all over Nick like a bad rash, but once again he was somehow good and told the sweet mama, "Not tonight, Tootsie-Pop." The opening band managed to get completely plastered and for some reason attacked us mid-set, one member going so far as to even drop his pants and try to "fuck" Beez from behind in the middle of a song. Consequently, these poor fellows all got thrown out.

Thursday September19
DAY OFF!: The reader will notice that this is only our second and last day off. We were incredibly sore and really needed it, so we decided to relax and find a tourist attraction. When we checked the map, lo and behold, what was on our route but Clear Lake, Iowa, the very small dot on the map that hosted the last-ever performance from Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper, February 3 1959. As we rolled into the tiny town, we hung a left on Buddy Holly Boulevard and soon came to the incredible, untouched, vintage Surf Ballroom. The only sign is a small tombstone-like memorial that basically states the final show happened right there in '59. We tried to go in but got quickly kicked out, and yes, we were asked by a young girl outside if we were a Buddy Holly tribute band. Yes, we answered, yes. We decided to stay the night in Clear Lake and snagged a quickie motel room, and then to our utter chagrin, a storm blew up much like the one that downed Buddy, knocked out the power, and we spent our last day off sitting in a pitch-black motel room in the middle of Iowa. We passed time by lighting our farts and giggling in the blue glow of shit-flame, then traded Buddy Holly conspiracy theories. For instance, did you know that bullet holes were found INSIDE the plane?!?!

Friday September 20
Daily Grind, Kansas City MO
The Queers, The Smuggers, The Breakups
This cool little coffee shop is in danger of closing down, so after our rousing set and just before the Queers, the manager got up and made an overly long, heartfelt speech about just how great the venue was and how everyone had to pitch in to keep the dream alive. Mid rave, Joe Queer grabbed his mike, said "What are you, runnin' for office? LET'S GO!". And with that, the band broke into a furious rendition of "THIS PLACE SUCKS!" as the manager fellow was sucked into the frothing mosh pit. Beautiful timing, sickly irony.

Saturday September 21
Mercury Cafe, Denver CO
The Queers, The Smuggers, cub
We were a little nervous about returning to Denver, the scene of such a ridiculous Smuggler-caused near-riot from last tour. There was a massive line-up of about 500 kids around the block and we thought every one of them wanted to kill us. Things went fairly smoothly though, as the only thing that really happened was getting pelted with the odd spitball. After the show we went back to crash at Beez' friend's place who works at the Denver office of the same international phone sex company Beez works for. Free phone sex all night! Yee ha! Our roadie SKA-T indulged the most, spending all night into the early morning jacking off to a woman who apparently was the "Budweiser Calender Girl" for 1995. Yeah right. SKA-T was stupid enough to give the girl our number, and when she called in the morning and Dave answered, Dave said she sounded a bit retarded. Hmmm....

Sunday September 22
G.I. Forum, Cheyenne WY
The Queers, The Smuggers, cub
First and last time ever playing Wyoming? Maybe... this was a small ages show, in fact the smallest of the entire tour, at an actual army-like hangar, with a small bar in the back, and that's where the trouble started. The bar, cut off from the actual hall, seemed to cater 100% to Mexican folk, and when we went in their to play pool with the Queers, it was cold, hard stares all 'round. The jukebox was blaring all these tradition Mexican trumpet numbers that had a bunch of people dancing, so I decided to get in on the act, slipped in a quarter and picked out "Surfin' Safari" by the Beach Boys and "Fortunate Son" by CCR. Not a good thing. As soon as the "Hat Dance Song" was over and we were all twisting to the good-time beat, the volume suddenly mysteriously went down on the jukebox, and once again all eyes were on us. Nick then went to the bar and ordered a beer when one huge dude bumped into him and gave him a classic line: "What'd you say to me, homes?". When Nick gave the obligatory "Um, nothing," this fellow replied "Why the FUCK did you bump into me, homes?!?!". Nick left his beer foaming on the counter, left the guy foaming at the bar and ran back to us faster than Speedy Gonzales with a let's-make-a-run-for-the-border look on his face. We high-tailed it, but not before I stuck in another couple quarters in the jukebox and stuck "Achy Breaky Heart" on repeat four times in a row. Let's just say that if assholes could fly, that bar would be an airport, comprende? We spend the rest of the night at the Cheyenne Holiday Inn playing poker 'til dawn with the Queers.

Monday September 23
Cinema Bar, Salt Lake City UT
The Queers, The Smuggers, cub
Nick and I got into a big brawl before this show and he almost permanently turned my lights out when I tried to wound him with his keys. On the other hand, the show was amazing. None of that weird Utah religious stuff popped up either, something you know I'm always concerned about. The kissing contest winners were extremely plentiful; it seemed every girl in SLC wanted a smooch that night and of course the Smugglers were more than happy to oblige. Graham had quite the line-up going!

Tuesday September 24
Crazy Horse, Bosie ID
The Queers, The Smuggers, cub
We hadn't played this back-water shithole since 1990, so we got up in the morning in Salt Lake City, drove all day long, pulled into Boise, crawled out of the van and whammo -- who's the very first person we run into? The actual guy who put on our show six years ago. Geez Lou-fuckin'-weez it felt like the Outer Limits or something. Fairly uneventful show save for yet another naked male ass on stage in the dance contest. We stayed with the Queers and cub at a dump called the Cabana Inn, so naturally we partied and played poker all night again.

Wednesday September 25
RKCNDY, Seattle WA
The Queers, The Smuggers, cub
Stupid name, I know. This place used to be a "grunge" bar that turned up right when that sickly musical movement did. In fact I think they even shot some of that terrible film "Singles" here. And to think I thought that movie was about vinyl 7"s!!! Anyhow, this show was a bit of an insane night. About 500 kids showed, and it was truly a "punk" crowd in the bullshit old-school sense, but I'll get to that in a minute. First, cub went on and the crowd was bouncing around a big beach ball thrown into the pit by the staff (did I tell you this place was square?). When the ball unexpected beamed cub's Lisa Marr square in the face Nick and I were both doubled over in laughter, but alas, little did I know I would pay for that bad karma as soon as we hit the stage!

So were rockin' away, when all of the sudden, out of the crowd, flying at me like a poison pellet from Satan's slingshot is this huge, gigantic, massive, disgusting, brown frothing ball of hork. A loogy. A snotball. A gob. Yes, my dear, dear friends, a punk rocker had taken it upon himself to hurl at me an ENORMOUS wad of the closest susbstance to jizz to ever splatter across my face. And what a marksman! This guy's sour nose-seed slopped into my hair, my eyes, my ears and my mouth (it tasted salty). Suddenly three of my five senses where taken over by somebody else's phlegm. I did all I could to remain composed, wiping the snot away with my jacket sleeves (I threw the jacket out after the show), and when the song finally ended, my first reaction was anger - I was gonna leap into that crowd and kill that guy! But when the Ghandi in me reared his little bald head, (no, I did not get a hard-on) I passively resisted and pleaded with the audience that when spitting, please try not to get it into my mouth as I was just getting over a cold. Miraculously, that seemed to hold it down for the duration of the show, thank Jesus in heaven.

Thursday September 26
La Luna, Portland OR
The Queers, The Smugglers, cub
This venue is a big, nice club, but we were all worried the show was not going to go so well when we noticed Face To Face and the Bouncing Souls were the next night and there wasn't the usual massive Queers-fans line up forming before the show. It turned out all right, and we had B-Face (the bassist of the Queers) be the celebrity judge for the dance contest and he just had to pick the obligatory dude who got up on stage and showed his naked ass. What is it with all the naked men's butts on this tour? Why do we attract this element to our show? HELP!!! Anyhow, some of the kids must have gotten confused, because when the kissing contest rolled around the only person people wanted to kiss was B-Face! And let me tell you, he got some sweet necks from the chickies that night! Whoo!

One other interesting point is that on this night it was that lunar eclipse thing that only happens like three times a century or something and we all saw it happening from the back lot of a place called... LA LUNA! Weird, eh?

Friday September 27
Trocadero Transfer, San Francisco CA
The Queers, The Swingin' Utters, The Smugglers
We'll just call this "Black Friday", for it was on this day, friends, that the Smugglers' incredible touring wagon that so many of you have seen us pull up in and drive away from for so many years, finally, for the first time in four years of solid touring of North America repeatedly, BROKE DOWN! But being the consummate lovers of our van that we are, we were able to catch the problem before it became a huge problem. So... we're cruising along the I-5 on the way to San Francisco and all of the sudden the van starts shakin' like Dolly Parton in an earthquake. We quickly pull over, I crawl under and discover that the drive shaft (the long, thin, cylinder thing [no I did not have a hard-on] that connects the rear axle to the engine) was as loose as the members of cub. That means that the joints (called 'U' joints) were worn down and had to be replaced. It's a minor repair, but five more minutes on that highway and that drive shaft could have fallen out and it would have been goodbye Smugglers. Anyhow, we were in the middle of nowhere and we had to get to San Francisco, so we're peering around our barren surroundings and Dave sights, to our amazement, peeking over the hilltop, a sign saying "TRUCK RENTAL." So I spring into action: "Beez! Climb that hill and rent the biggest truck they have... quick! Dave! Take that AAA card of yours and call a tow truck... QUICK! Nick, Graham, SKA-T! Unload everything from the van onto the highway... QUICK!" Then I took some time out and caught some sun. Soon, the tow truck was there, and while it was loading our empty van onto its haunches, we were loading a gigantic flat-bed Ryder moving van with our gear. We followed the tow truck to a local mechanic in the small town of Mount Shasta, CA. I told the mechanic exactly what had to be replaced and that we would be back to pick up the van Monday morning, and in 40 minutes of breaking down, we were back on the highway, flying down the I-5 at 70 mph! Thanks, but we were still really late. In fact when we arrived at the Trocadero (not to be confused with the concert hall of the same name in Philadelphia) we were already supposed to be on stage and Joe Queer had just made the decision, forced upon him by the club staff, that we weren't playing. That's when he saw SKA-T forcing his way through the packed house with some of our gear. Joe then ran outside, gawked at the moving rig, gave us an "Oh yeah!" and rolled up the back door of the truck as five suited Smugglers jumped out with our guitars, ran into the club, onto the stage and played. Literally just like that. It was fucked, but we made it. Never miss a gig, kids.

Saturday September 28
Gilman Street, Berkeley CA
The Queers, The Smugglers, and three other bands
Finally! Our last show of the hardest, most painful tour we've ever played. One of the main things that really suffered on this tour was our stage suits. I mean these things REEKED liked nobody's business. I would rather shove my head into a fresh vat of diarrhea than smell those suits again. So on this last night, we had a veritable strip tease/clothing toss. Everything went... pants, jackets, shirts, rubber boots, and... my dreaded gonch (read: absolutely filthy underwear). When I threw it into the crowd a girl near the front caught them and, as Nick and Beez described in hysterics for me later, for some unknown reason the girl stuck the skivvies in her face, took a deep whiff, and the look that came over her face could only be described as grey death and deserved a call to 911. But miraculously, she recovered and shoved the soiled 'roos into her coat pocket! Alright!!! B-Face judged the kissing contest this time and he came up with a real honey for Beez, who, since his marriage, hasn't really been able to "swing with the boys" ... until this the very last night of the tour. He has still not shut up about how HOT (like temperature-wise) the tongue was that slid down his throat like a forbidden serpent that night at the legendary punk palace known at Gilman Street.

And so that ends another Smugglers road trip. Congratulations to all the winners, thanks to all who supported and helped us out, and thanks to you for reading this far. We'll see you in the front row next time around!

Love,

Grant Lawrence and The Smugglers

Another serving of Diarya please

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