Kitchener, ON

Jason Linkins at Huffington Post breaks it down way better than I could have ever hoped to... http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/09/10/this-is-how-the-media-wor_n_712229.html

Quebec City, QC

I just got an email from our UK publicist asking if I want to interview Steve Ignorant from Crass for the magazine Big Cheese. How fucking cool is that!!!!! What questions should I ask him?

Today's show is a festival in Quebec, which means we're just sitting here in the bus under an overpass. It's kind of grey and chilly outside, looks like it's gonna rain at some point and it doesn't really look like there's anything around here worth walking to. I may explore later though.

I've been watching a bunch of the footage on CNN from all the controversy over Terry Jones' upcoming book burning in Gainesville. Have you seen all the fuss? I gotta say, I think that the right to burn the books should be defended, I think it's distasteful for sure and that the church people planning it are most certainly ugly people, book burnings are crass (get it?), archaic, but I'm out here on the road every night singing songs about smashing crosses. There's no real difference between wanting to smash a cross and wanting to burn a book, one is just more passive, the other more interactive.

I think that the kind of religious fanatic that would kill another person or multiple people over the burning of a book or in the name of a god is way more disgusting than the kind of religious fanatic that would burn a book. Ultimately I condemn both sides of the argument, I hold no respect for either parties involved, just the innocent bystanders who don't give a fuck about holy wars and don't want it effecting their community. But you can fear the intent and devotion behind someone waging a jihad. Burning a book is just cowardly, in fact it's the act of someone who's attention starved and most certainly vain. This bible thumper in Florida is nothing more than a used car salesman, a fucking ego, but he did pay for those books, they're his, he made his contribution to the religion financially he should be free to do what he wants with them. I think it's far more important to focus on defending freedom of expression and freedom of speech than to live in fear of people who would kill for a god. No book is more valuable than a human life.

Really the most sad figures in the picture are the flocks on each side of the divide, the followers. The fucking sheep. How terrifying would it have been to be a fly on the wall in that tin roof church when the Pastor Terry Jones announced his idea to his congregation. How frightening the faces must have been to witness as they grasped the idea, warmed to it and then embraced it. I wonder if any of them have been to a book burning before or if this will be all of their first. What is proper attire for a book burning? Casual? It's gonna be hot and humid out, are shorts okay? Does the Pastor Terry Jones actually light the fire himself? Do you clap once it's really burning? How does it end? Will songs be sung? How did they factor how many copies of the book where needed for proper dramatic effect? Are the copies of the book being burned American made or imported? Are there any bible burnings planned to coincide? Someone should coordinate one of those album smashing parties too, you know where they bring in a steam roller and run over a bunch of Beatles and Elvis records, just for the fuck of it. Are there going to be refreshments? Is any book burning merchandise going to be available for sale? Is seating general admission or is there anyway to have guaranteed front row spots? Has Terry Jones ever actually read the book he's gonna burn?

Bring It On!

Oslo, Norway - Thon Hotel

It was raining when we arrived here at the hotel. After eating some Indian food at the train station next door I came back here to my room and fell asleep. I slept for 9 hours. Not a good way to get over the jet-lag and adjust to the time change but I needed it. And now I'm up, wide awake. 5pm set time at the Oya Fest tomorrow.

Spokane, WA

I'm hiding in my bunk. I don't want to go to the bar, I don't feel social. If you want privacy on a bus this is it, you've got your bunk and the protection of a cheap pleather curtain to pull shut. That or I guess you could lock yourself in the bathroom too, but people would start knocking eventually. The ceiling is low in here.
We played at the Knitting Factory in Spokane, Washington tonight. I didn't know what to expect from the crowd before going onstage. And despite the super cramped, small stage it ended up being one of the best shows of the tour. The crowd was full of energy and super receptive. Thanks to everyone who came out. Thanks for singing along.
I took a walk around downtown before the show. After a couple blocks I remembered the area I was in. I remembered coming here to Spokane back on the second tour we ever did. We didn't play a show, we just passed through town. I remembered walking around the shopping mall asking for spare change. Actually my theory back then was to ask for a quarter so I could "make a phone call", cause I thought it seemed less like charity and people would be less inclined to turn me down as they wouldn't want to feel bad about themselves for not helping me out. I mean hey, I'm only asking cause I need to make a phone call. We didn't do too bad that day, we managed to fill the gas tank and fill our stomachs.
Only five more shows on this tour and then Europe. Andrew came back out yesterday. It's good to have him back. He's down at the bar right now with James and George. In about an hour I predict I'll hear the front door open and then slam shut, followed by the sound of stumbling footsteps, yelling and laughing in the front lounge. As for me I'm gonna keep the curtain shut and sit tonight out. I hope to fall asleep before I hear the start of the bus engine.

UK Tour Journal

I kept a tour journal while in the UK a couple weeks ago and it was recently posted on Buzzgrinder.com; I thought I would repost here as well...

Day one – Hatfield

I didn’t understand why the gentlemen who had just a couple hours previous sold us the weed was now standing a couple feet from me yelling in my direction for smoking said weed.

“Who the hell’s smoking weed here! Who the fuck… is it you!?!?!”

Look man, stop pointing your fucking finger at me. I just got done playing on this very stage and now I want to stand here, smoke a J, which you sold me, and watch my friends band play. Get off my back. His friend was upset, too. I guess ’cause I was standing on the wheel well of the orange Jägermeister truck, the bed of which serving as the stage. OK, I get it, now that you point it out to me, yes, I may scratch the paint standing here, but really man, who fucking cares? You both just look ridiculous standing there yelling at me.

Girls are really into wearing leggings as pants over here.

Day two – Leeds

It was “vegetable stew” over rice for lunch, and then they added in some potatoes and it was “vegan curry” over rice for dinner. Today for lunch they took away the potatoes but added in some beans and called it “vegan chili,” which was served over rice. I don’t really care what’s for dinner tonight at this point.

I washed some laundry in the backstage bathroom sink, hung it out to dry in our dressing room. I haven’t had a shower in three days. I have also somehow managed to lose every pair of socks that I brought with me except for the pair that I am currently wearing. When I take them off at night, they maintain the exact shape and form of my feet. In a couple more days I’m expecting them to start walking on their own.

The show schedule kept getting pushed back throughout the day, which in turn threw off my pacing. Started drinking a little too long before actually taking the stage. Stumbling drunk, I lost myself in the whitewash of guitar distortion and crash cymbals. Sometimes walking back to the dressing room, you feel more like you just lost a fist fight than played music to a crowd of people.

The after party was stupid, I regretted being there immediately. The music was too loud to have any kind of conversation, and beyond that it was horrible music. Every time a round of shots was brought to the table and glasses were raised, our group of people cheered as if the roller coaster had just reached the top of the climb and was about to free fall. Hands up in the air everyone, here we go!

Day three – Glasgow

I can’t stop listening to Crazy Arm. Their album, Born to Ruin, is the best I’ve heard in a while.

Day four – London

Full day of press before the show, not much time to explore or see anything. I’ve been having trouble forming complete sentences when engaged in social conversation lately. My tongue ties. I’m also having trouble exiting conversations when I no longer want to be engaged in them. I’m not smiling ’cause I’m happy, I’m uncomfortable and nervous. I don’t really have anything else to say, and you don’t really have anything to say to me. I’m looking for the exit.

I wish I was the type of person who could get away with wearing sunglasses at all hours, day or night. Sure, people would probably think I’m a cunt, but who really gives a fuck what they think anyways? Just that little bit of distance would be nice. I’ve been finding myself locked in a bathroom stall often lately, standing there, checking my messages obsessively on my phone.

Day five – Manchester

In my dream last night, I had run my mouth a little too much and found myself in a back alley brawl. I realized quickly that I had previously underestimated my opponent when talking shit. My friends whom I had counted on being there to back me up were nowhere to be found. I was quickly pinned to the floor, punch after punch rained down onto my face. I couldn’t figure out which was more painful, the beating or the embarrassment of getting what I deserved.

Ended the night in a karaoke bar. My version of George Michael’s Faith was surely an insult even to Limp Bizkit’s version.

Day six – Birmingham

Started today off with a short acoustic set at Kerrang! Radio. Before I played, I ended up doing a quick interview with Johnny DOOM, of the band DOOM. Holy shit! I love DOOM! If you had told the 16-year-old me that one day Johnny DOOM, singer of DOOM, as in Police Bastard DOOM (Holy shit!), would first interview me on air and then introduce me to a crowd of 20 people at 1 in the afternoon to play a terribly awkwar acoustic set in a radio station lobby in Birmingham, England while touring in support of my band’s second major label release — I think my head would have exploded.

Last show of the U.K. run tonight, wish we could have stayed longer. Looking forward to coming back in the fall.

I Was A Teenage Anarchist

I wrote this short piece for the website www.antimusic.com and their series "Singled Out". Thought I would reprint it here...

I got into radical politics when I was 15 years old, shortly after discovering punk music. At first I thought punk was just nihilism, misanthropy, self destruction, Sid Vicious. Then when I was 15 I got beat up by the cops; the experience changed my life. It was the 4th of July, Naples, Florida. Every year there's a fireworks celebration down on the beach by the pier, at least there used to be. Small boardwalks connect the street to the sand. I had gone down early to meet up with a couple friends and I as I stood there on the boardwalk looking out into the sea of people trying to spot my friends, two police officers approached me. I was asked to get off the boardwalk, they said I was blocking the flow of traffic. So I did, I turned around and walked off the boardwalk back down onto the street.
Then the two officers approached me again telling me to get off the boardwalk. I told them I was off the boardwalk. Next thing I knew one of the cops had grabbed me by the neck, twisted my arm behind my back and started dragging me over towards their parked cruiser. They slammed my face down onto the sun-baked trunk of the car., kicked my legs apart and started going through my pockets. Every time I tried to get my head up off the burning trunk it was slammed back down harder. After a long and immature verbal exchange, most of the immaturity being on my part (I think the words "fucking" and "pig" were used quite a lot if I remember correctly) they cuffed me and threw me into the back of the cruiser. The one cop stood there taunting me through the window until more officers showed up on the scene, at which point they pulled me out of the cruiser. My body went limp and I fell to my knees. Two officers pulled me up, one on each elbow, putting all my weight onto my cuffed wrists, my legs kicked out involuntarily, two other cops grabbed one each. They brought me around to the other side of the cruiser and dropped me face first into the middle of the street. One officer put a boot to my head, another put a knee in my back and then they proceeded to hog-tie me. I was then lifted up like a suitcase, held by an elbow and a leg and thrown into the back of a different cruiser.
When I got down to the station I remember the main officer who instigated the whole thing opening the car door and telling me he was going to cut my legs free, that if I kicked him he would put a bullet in my head. I was charged with Battery On An Officer and Resisting Arrest With Violence, two felony charges that I was convicted of despite my mother hiring an attorney that she couldn't really afford. I know now it was a small injustice compared to other instances of police violence I've heard of over the years, I was just a dirty punk kid who walked past the wrong cops, but at the time I was more than outraged.
The experience politicized me. I dropped out of high school. I started doing a zine. I started a distro of political pamphlets and Anarcho-punk records. I started a Food Not Bombs chapter with a group of friends. We met other like minded people across Florida and started a radical activist network. We organized protests, we organized gatherings, workshops, participated in direct action. I was a Teenage Anarchist. When I was younger my opinions where very black and white, I was either for or against something, and that's how I defined myself. A lot of those opinions where formed by social influence from the scene I was a part of, being younger I felt the need to belong to something, a group of people, I wanted acceptance. Over time I realized how some people use their positions of stature to pursue their own personal agenda's, selling their own personal brand of self- serving revolution. This all being the complete opposite of what drew me towards Anarchism in the first place. I found that the people who professed the loudest that they were the most open minded individuals were in fact usually the most close minded. I feel like the revolution sold to me when I was a teenager by the punk scene, by the Anarchist scene was a lie. The real revolution was the political awakening. That initial spark that made me want to change the world. And that's what I'm interested in, maintaining that fire. That's what the song is about. I am an autonomous individual. I think for myself. I have no need to supplement my identity through belonging to a scene or exclusively endorsing any brand of political thought. And if anyone is offended by that I feel like it only reaffirms my conviction. For if it's heresy for an Anarchist to say "FUCK Anarchy" then Anarchism is truly just another flag, and I say burn it along with the rest of them.