Wow. You know, people talk about Marfa, Texas a lot. Just wiki that shit if you don't know the deal.
It really is pretty amazing, to be honest. Tim Johnson, who runs the Marfa Book Co. in "downtown" Marfa, set us up to the point where we didn't have to worry about a single thing. When we showed up there was two pizzas, a cooler full of Corona and Lone Star and even a bottle of Knob Creek. We were elated by his generosity. The show itself was among the best of tour. The crowd was generally older than us and pretty much all art people, but they were very, very down. There was so many nice things said to us. I think we did an interview for PBS.
Photo: Grey Feather, the guest house of Marfa. There was more than enough comfortable beds and towels for showering. Plus we had the whole place to ourselves. Things got weird.
Another thing Tim did was set us up to stay at Grey Feather, which is a small house-like structure on the edge of town that no one lives in but is full of beds and has a sweet shower. This is where our friends in YACHT stay when they visit (they're the chief reason why we heard about Marfa in the first place and how we subsequently came to play there.)
But before we were even aware of where were sleeping (or how shocked and awed we would be by the town's charm) the other band, Superfiend (who were awesome), took us to their house and got us stoned as parrots. Then we went to the cemetery.
Photo: A new friend rolls a junt in the Marfa cemetery. The Christian side and the Catholic side are seperated by a fence.
The stars in Marfa are unbelievably intense but they weren't bright enough to light up that graveyard. We used phones to wander through it. We were all VERY drunk; Chris threw up in Superfiend's kitchen sink before he left (and though a member of the band's female cousin called to ask Chris if he was the one who did it, they didn't seem to mind) and Brian passed out by a fence on the edge of the cemetery. We didn't even realize Brian was missing until after we had already got to the neighboring train tracks to smoke a junt. Apparently, earlier while Brian and I were waiting to pop out and spook the other half of the crew, he just fell asleep. We couldn't have been sitting there for more than half a minute, either. From how he recalls it, he woke up in the dark and tried to call each of us to no avail. Somehow he managed to find his way back to Superfiend's house and we found him asleep on their couch.
We were relieved, to say the least. Chris continued hurling even though he had successfully managed to accompany us on the whole cemetery/train tracks adventure (though he spent most of it sitting on the ground or having to be half-carried.)
But when we finally got to Grey Feather is when things got really weird. There's a lot of pictures and videos of what happens when White Fang has a whole house to themselves in the middle of the desert when they're all wasted and taking showers. There was no penetration but it was pretty funny.
So now we're driving the deeper stretch from Marfa to Phoenix, Arizona (where we hope to catch the Dirty Beaches show at Trunk Space tonight.) Then we play at the Trunk Space tomorrow before heading back to the West Coast and, sooner than later, back to Portland.
This is Rikky Gage reporting from the 420 bus where we are currently pretending to smoke weed out of invisible devices, as we disposed of all evidence that would give border patrol douches any reason to fuck with us.