I wake up to the sound of my damned cell phone's saccharine "wake up" alarm. The dream was sooooo nice and the alarm tone, which I think is supposed to be "cheery,” is so very very nauseating. After fumbling with my phone to shut it the hell up I have my first three clear thoughts.
"This is a hotel room." Okay, that's normal. No worries there.
"What hotel?" Something a few blocks from last nights show. Red on the outside, I think.
"What city?" Boise. No, Spokane. Right.
I feel oriented and able to move on to the search for coffee. I know we have to be in Seattle by 5 pm to load in. Our mystery machine van with its over-burdened transmission tops out at around jogging speed on most of the highway between here and the Showbox. We need to find food and get moving right away. I think about the day ahead, and the fact that we're supposed to go on stage later tonight from 10 to midnight. I am grateful for Red Bull and spiteful at our lack of roadies.
The horror of my wake up alarm was not lost on Dave and he is tearing open a foil wrapped package of coffee with his teeth. He looks like he's thinking about how long the day and night ahead are going to be and how little sleep we got. Running the calculations in his mind about what he'll be needing to plow through it all.
Later we're backstage at the Showbox in Seattle, literally bouncing off the walls and couches while beatboxing and air-guitaring through the set we're about to play. Logically, we should all be passed out by now. Even we have no idea how we are ready to play for two hours, but we sure as hell are ready.
Dax, one of our very best friends in the whole world and a giant Viking-looking man, is there tonight running our sound. He comes into the green room with a huge metal chef's bowl. In it is a bottle of Jagermeister on ice and four shot glasses.
"Gentlemen! To Evil!" He announces proudly.
"Oh man," says Pete, "this show is going to be insane."
We try a new song in the middle of the set that we have not recorded on any of our records. It builds up from beneath us like some kind of earthquake. Dave plays one of the most intense guitar solos I have ever seen from anyone. There are times when just watching that guy play blows my mind. I can feel the sound of his over-driven Gibson pouring like waves over everything. Pete and I are just backing it up, lost in it.
I am home the next day, sore but rested, and still humming all over from that show. Thank you, Seattle.
Press photo of Rob courtesy of Floater