Guest post by tour companion and friend, Tom Hoy

I am hungry and tired. I have been hungry and tired for the better part of the last two weeks. When you’re on the road these states of being are constants. Food and sleep always come, but never regularly, and almost never to your total satisfaction. However, their necessity turns a strange couch or a paltry egg salad sandwich from a gas station into something extraordinary. A good meal and a comfortable bed have left me in the throes of romance with creature comforts for hours afterwards.

I built my day to day life in New York City on routine. I worked a 9-5 job. I made time for a one hour errand after work, usually either exercise or grocery shopping. I then practiced guitar for two hours with a ten minute snack break in between each hour. Depending on my mood I would unwind with a moderate amount of alcohol or marijuana, and listen to one of my records, or if my brain was dead, a TV show. I would then sleep for 7-8 hours every night.

My routine and structure kept me productive as well as happy. I’m a better person that has more fun with life when I eat right and get enough sleep. Oftentimes I find myself mired in petty anxieties and melancholy when I don’t take regular care of my health. Problems become magnified, and often sadness seems like a great black pit that is utterly hopeless to claw my way out of. There is no routine to rely on when you’re on the road, and these things quickly started manifesting themselves. I felt great for the first few days, but somewhere around day 4 I quickly found myself getting mired in petty anxieties and insecurities that consumed me and skewed my sense of reality and well being. Most days I would hit what felt like rock bottom, the lowest and saddest I felt like I could go, or have ever gone. I would smoke a cigarette, and comfort myself with the fact that this tour would inevitably end.

Being on the road has also been, at the risk of being over-dramatic, an exalting, euphoric, and spiritual experience. The almost total unpredictability is exhilarating. Anything can happen and often did happen, and the results were magical beyond anything I could’ve imagined, and frequently replaced my sadness with total joy and wonder. Yesterday we visited Luke’s grandfather at St. Vincent’s nursing home in Bismarck, North Dakota and Hek brought his guitar along to sing him a song. They were about to start the rosary with many other residents, and an attendant asked Hek to sing to the gathering. Hek ending up singing his gorgeous and melancholy song “I Will Remember You Always” to a full chapel of residents. It was beautiful, spiritual, and deeply moving. It felt like a scene out of a movie.

The previous day we had recorded a full Travel Write Sing EP of our original songs with a rotating cast of musicians Luke knew from Bismarck. The songs had been written, but the vast majority of the musical parts were improvised in the moment, with everyone crowded around a single microphone. I was praying for bed, and dreading the session, but the energy and warmth of the music, the people, and precious fragility of recording these songs that had become the summations of our travels made me smiling to myself for no reason at all within minutes. When we were done, a fellow guitarist I met, Jae Sun, the night before brought over a rare and covetable Gibson Les Paul for me to play (I am a die hard Les Paul aficionado), just because. The tour will clock in at two weeks long, and these two days are just a small snippet of the incredible experiences that were thrown our way. A visit to the badlands, a campfire party, impromtu drunken songs to couples on the street (after getting kicked out of a bar), Skee ball in an alien themed restaurant, Space Aliens, the joyful absurdity of our lives was as sweetly intoxicating as newfound romance.

 

And the people. All those wonderful, warm, hospitable, singularly glorious people. Jae Sun, who shared his favorite guitar with me. Jerome, a cowboy and professional harmonica player we met in the badlands who hopped in our van on a lark to come play on our EP.

Larry, who gave each of the 4 of us a bed and shared a 21 year old bourbon he received for his 50th birthday with us. Sky, who showed
us to the best neapolitan pizza I’ve ever had, recorded our EP, and brought a soulful simplicity to the upright bass in all our jams. And Luke’s big hearted, big personalitied family, who gave us a much needed respite from the road at their cabin, and then took us into their home for 2 days in Bismarck. The hospitality, brotherhood, and love for their fellow man was second nature.

Touring has also shown me until now unknown joy in and taught me assurance in performing with Julianne. We know and have improvised off these songs backwards and forwards for the last year. But playing them consistently, with love and energy and urgency, in sports bars to coffee houses to record stores, creating those ephemeral and unique moments of joy night after night, has made the self-consciousness melt away and to fully trust the presence of the moment with my artistic other.

Lastly, and most importantly, I have gotten to know (or gotten to know better) under circumstances both intense and unique three singuarly incredible people. Luke’s generous spirit and work ethic have astounded me. Hek’s kindness, unassuming regard for others, and penchant for filthy humor were a delight to discover. And Julianne, my closest and dearest friend, never ceases to surprise and inspire me with her incredible gifts of empathy and imagination.

I’d do all this again in a heartbeat. But next time, I would remind myself to not get bogged down in my own petty concerns, but to take breath, look around, and just enjoy the ride.