THE ADVENTURES OF H OLY GHOST TENT REVIVAL

A GREAT VISIT

JAMES ROSS MONTSINGER

A Great Visit — 2

Manuscript version: Visit 2.21 Copyright © 2013-2016 by James Ross Montsinger

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author.

Lyrics to “Circles” are used with permission and copyright by Dulci Ellenberger

Lyrics to “Carolina Waltz” are used with permission and copyright by Melissa Hyman and Sweet Claudette

Lyrics to “Shakedown” are used with permission and copyright by Kevin Williams and Holy Ghost Tent Revival.

Lyrics to “I don’t mind your cussin’” are used with permission and copyright by Sean Hoots and Hoots & Hellmouth.

Lyrics to “Shadow Only Knows” are used with permission and copyright by Matt Martin and Holy Ghost Tent Revival

A Great Visit — 3

A Great Visit — 4

A Great Visit — 5

—A GREAT VISIT1

1The following is a work of fiction, which isn’t to call it untrue. Everything’s technically happening; the dreams are part of it too. The author sets out what’s real for him . . . as it happens in time. But I’m in here habitually, with context, meaning, rhyme.

—The Bard

A Great Visit — 6

A Great Visit — 7

In the morning I see trees This one standing tall This one is standing free I think I know exactly where my heart is But the night is when I start to see the forest

A Great Visit — 8

A Great Visit — 9

Through the windshield of the van I could see nothing but lush green pines. My bandmate Matt Martin was driving. We went into a hard right turn with too much speed. I got angry and tried to yell. “. . .” I was not able to speak. Dreaming? We rode in comfort for a moment with trees scrolling sideways. I heard a loud crash and tried again to scream, but only out of anger. The van must have been rolling over. We got out and casually went to the side of the road. “Is anyone going to do anything about this?” I said. We stood, contemplated. Charlie ran off into the woods. “Fine.” I used my mind to lift the van into the air and I set it back down, right-side-up with its engine still purring. “Yeah, Sauce,” said Stephen Murray. “Use them powers.”

A Great Visit — 10

A Great Visit — 11

DAY ONE

Asheville, the day of the show. It was a very pretty one in North Carolina. Kevin Williams and I were standing in the front yard of our manager Jason Mencer’s house. I had cup of Earl Grey tea, hot. Kevin was smoking a cigarette. “Well,” I said. “It’s too bad we couldn’t find any of those Bloody Mary fixings.” Kevin said, “Yeah! I thought there would still be some from Thanksgiving.” I was about to ask how that gathering had been but when I opened my mouth, we heard and saw our van come roaring up the mountain, followed closely by a cloud of black exhaust. Both came to rest in the driveway. Stephen Murray and Hank Widmer emerged from the cloud and walked the brick path to the stoop. “Hey buds,” said Kevin. We all hugged. “Van giving you trouble?” I said. “She looked pretty bad coming up that hill.” “She’s doing that L ow­Power Mode bullshit again,” said Stephen, fanning the fumes. “Have a good Thanksgiving?” “Yeah . . . got to see my parents and stuff. Kev came here. Where’s Charlie?” “Went around back,” said Hank. I said, “Kev thinks there might be a bunch of Bloody Mary stuff left over from Thanksgiving. Haven’t been able to find it, though.” “I haven’t been able to get in touch with Krinkleburt about getting the van fixed,” said Stephen. “I’m worried she won’t

A Great Visit — 12

make it through tour.” “I thought we got that shit fixed,” said Kevin. “Indeed,” I said. I thought about how it was only two months earlier that we had been standing in this mechanic’s driveway in Pittsburgh talking about how we were spewing black smoke everywhere all the time and how he, Krinkleburt, the mechanic, had just mumbled something excitedly about a black box and then stopped returning our calls. I looked at Hank and said, “At least we got that extended tailpipe so we won’t be breathing in smoke anymore.” Stephen said, “Exactly,” and lit up a cigarette. I went through the front door into the house. Charlie Humphrey was in the hallway digging through a box of books. “Got a haircut,” I said. “Hey Ross,” he said. “It’s a new me.” He tipped his Ragsdale High School Wrestling cap2 . “Let me know if you find anything good in there,” I said. I went into the kitchen and sat down at the island. I thought about a trip we had taken out west a few months earlier and how we ended up broken down in California for two days. I knew the guys were stressed about being stranded and missing the best show of tour, but I never thought Charlie would read me poetry3.

2Charles Perkins Humphrey — born October 10, 1991 and recruited to Holy Ghost Tent Revival straight out of the Ragsdale High School Marching Band, essentially by staff members Hank W. (Marching/Visuals) and Ross M. (Drumline/Percussion) — is far and away the youngest member of the group, HGTR, which, since its inception in 2007, retains four of its original seven members: Henry N. Widmer, James R. Montsinger, Matthew E. Martin and Stephen N. Murray, all born '85. In 2010, HGTR adds Kevin (no middle initial) Williams, of Scranton, P.A., who increases the age range slightly by being born in early '84.

3 Ross misremembers the poem being something like, The van she broke her belt, outside a Taco Belle The shop, they said, was out of parts So we got a hotel . . .

A Great Visit — 13

I looked up and saw Matt Martin approaching through the window of the back door wearing a pastel shirt and paisley tie. He looked in at me and knocked loudly anyway. I opened the door and we hugged. He was wearing an orange backpack. “Hello,” I said. Matt said, “I’ve got to piss and shit.” He headed straight into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. “Okay then,” I said. I shut the door he had entered through and turned to see Charlie sitting at the island. He looked sad. “Have a good Thanksgiving?” I said. “It was fine. You?” “It was good. Hung out with the parents. Went to the Biltmore and stuff.” “Fancy.” The rest of the band entered through the front door and came into the kitchen. “Anyone wake Jason yet?” said Kevin. “Suppose we better ,” said Charlie. “Ol’ Sleeping­On­The­Job Mencer4.” Kevin went upstairs and returned shortly with Jason, who was squinting and smiling, holding a bowl5. Matt came out of the bathroom and initiated a hug from behind. “Yay!” said Matt. “Friends!” said Jason with his unique kind of sarcasm that you can tell is actually authentic. He’s loud, too. “Have a good Thanksgiving, didja?” he boomed. “Didst, didst,” said Matt. “Seriously though,” he continued sternly. “I’ve brought gifts for you all.”

4HGTR becomes fast friends with the members of a band, Now You See Them (Jason Mencer, Dulci Ellenberger, Shane Connerty,) via playing together in Greensboro, N.C. in 2010. When NYST disbands in 2012, Ross, while experiencing mushrooms, suggests that Jason becomes HGTR’s tour manager, which roll 36­year­old Mencer performs beautifully until a midnight band meeting on the beach promotes him to general manager.

5Not cereal.

A Great Visit — 14

“Aw, Matt,” said Stephen. “ Now, now . . .” said Matt. “None of us got you shit ,” said Charlie. “Looks like Matt’s the best friend,” said Kevin. Matt took off his orange backpack and opened it. The whole band was standing around the island. It was good to be with my friends.

V.XXV.XIV —

Last night I reached out and touched the moon. All my friends were there around the fire by the pond, and I could hear the thoughts of everyone who had eaten the chocolate, except, whenever I replied, I’d suddenly be in that person’s place around the burning fire. And vice versa. I also touched the moon’s reflection in the still pond. Each time I traded places with someone, I was either a little bit in the past, or just slightly in the future.

. . .

Matt pulled a salmon colored button­up from his bag. “ I know that shirt!” said Charlie. “You h ave always coveted it,” said Matt, passing the shirt across the island. Charlie tried it on. “Looks good,” said Hank. “ And there’s a dollar b ill in the pocket!” said Charlie, holding the bill between index and thumb. He was very happy about that. Stephen raised an eyebrow and said, “Matt, you sly dog!” “It’s funny you should say that,” said Matt. He reached into his magic bag and retrieved for Stephen a book, What Are Dogs For? “I figured this could help you whip Raney into shape.”

A Great Visit — 15

“Nice,” said Stephen. “She’s been acting like a real shit, lately.” I said, “How did you like What Are Dogs One, Two and Three? ” Stephen said, “I’ve been watching Dog Whisperer like crazy though.” Jason said, “Good joke, Ross.” Only I had heard him; only he had heard me. “Now for you , little Kevvy,” said Matt. He slowly revealed a blue pack of American Spirits and lobbed them over the island. “ Whoa! ” said Stephen. “That’s a good g ift !” said Kevin. “Now I’ve got two packs.” He removed from his shirt pocket a matching box and held one in each hand like he was about to shake a pair of maracas. “Nice!” “Enough smokes to last all tour6,” said Jason. Charlie pulled out his phone and looked at it. “ Whoa! ” I said. “Got a flip phone, Chuck,” said Jason. “Downgraded,” I said, laughing. “Yeah man,” said Charlie. “I’m getting off the grid.” “You won’t do it like t hat ,” I said. Kevin said, “What’d you do with your smartphone ?” “I’ll sell it to you,” said Charlie. “ What ? Hell no; I love my little slider guy.” Kevin took out his phone and slid it open with a satisfying snap. “Really though guys,” Charlie said. “I just saw Zeitgeist this weekend.” I said, “What? Just now?” “Wow,” said Jason. “Welcome to 2007, eh?”

6“Enough x to last all tour” is a running joke, or rather, a catchphrase among the group, repeating constantly whether there is any truth to it or not. This particular instance of Kev with his two packs of blue­flavored Natural American Spirits, and the possibility that he will return to Asheville with any smokes remaining after a ten­day tour is a blatant lie/joke.

A Great Visit — 16

“That’s what everyone’s been s aying !” said Charlie. “I had no idea about any of that stuff. New World Order, 9/11 conspiracy, none of it. Why didn’t anyone tell me about this stuff?” “You’ve never seen F ahrenheit 9/11? ” I said. “It’s all new to me,” he said. “So, sorry if I’m in a weird mood or whatever.” Matt patted Charlie on the back. “Now now,” he said. “It’s never too late to break a mental sweat.” “So that’s why you got a haircut and a flip phone?” I said. Charlie said, “Yeah, I’m P unk Charlie now.” “Punk Humph,” said Jason. “And finally, for you, Ross.” Matt pulled out a large, square picture book titled Wabi­Sabi. “What’s that?” said Stephen. Matt said, “Oh, some crazy Japanese shit.” I began flipping through the book, its pages turning vertically. I could see the story was told through Haiku and illustrated with beautifully textured collage­style artwork. I looked up at Matt with a genuine smile and said thanks. Kevin was staring at his phone. He said, “How long does it take to get to Nashville?” “Four and a half hours,” said Hank. “Yes,” said Jason. “Four and a h aif .” He pulled out his smartphone. “We’ve got the time change working in our favor, though. Load­in is at five and it’s now twelve­fifteen.” “So we’ll actually be on time for once,” said Charlie. “ Right on time.” Matt, Charlie and I found some highball glasses and split a Dale’s Pale Ale tallboy three ways. “Spirits are high7,” said Jason. Stephen took a look around the room and said, “Looks like everyone’s got a pea coat except for Kev and Hank.”

7This is also an oft­used expression that can mean both its apparent meaning and/or its opposite.

A Great Visit — 17

“Call this the Peacoat Tour, ” I said. “Gonna be a cold one.” Matt unleashed a dramatic indication of refreshment. Stephen said, “That’s nice; I was just gonna call it B oy’s Week. ” “ Boy’s Week!” said Charlie and I, grinning. Jason said, “How’s the van been running?” “Like a piece of shit,” said Stephen. “Well,” offered Hank. “It seems like if we let her run for a while, turn her off and on again . . . she does better.” “Great,” said Jason. His sarcasm didn’t have any authenticity this time. “It will be interesting to see how she does in this cold weather.” “And it will be that,” said Matt. Kevin slid his phone shut with another snap. “Let’s hit it.” We gulped our beers, gathered our belongings and left the house through the back door. Matt lept into the air and gave a swift, impressive kung fu kick to nothing. We all piled into the van8. It felt good to be with my friends again.

XI.XXX.XIII — Asheville9

It was a perfect day. Ate lunch w/ l es parents at the Grove Park Inn — Bulleit Bourbon + milk stout on special. The lunch menu seemed juvenile for such a fancy place; I had a hot dog, and after lunch, a glass of red wine. We took a look at all the gingerbread houses and then went out to the observation deck — a concrete patio with a panoramic view. The mountains were green up close and blue far

8A 2006 all­black Dodge Sprinter with diesel fuel, fold­down TV, sliding side door and separate gear compartment in the back. It’s too weird that the previous owners call the van Kevin , so HGTR renames it Master Sprinter , unaware of or unconcerned by the myth that it is bad luck to rename a vessel.

9From the journals of Ross Montsinger, six days earlier.

A Great Visit — 18

away. Sprouting up between the two was downtown Asheville, grey and angular. I stared at the city and tried to imagine the people inside. I wondered if they were happy. It was hard to picture the difficulties of that life from so far away. We drove to Highland Brewing for a S weet Claudette concert. Dulci was singing to us as we walked in, saying, “W e don’t have to work in circles just ‘cause everything else does.” I still don’t think I know what that means10 . . . I ran into my friend Hannah Kaiser, who is on day seventy-three of her vow of silence and intending to go a whole year. I bought two beers and tipped a dollar for each. Hannah and I talked a lot11 about authors (Hemingway, Vonnegut, Salinger, Twain). I said it seems all our favorite storytellers have been to war. We talked about children and marriage and all that and maybe drank two more beers. After the show, I said goodbye to my parents and went with Hannah to a bar in West Asheville — Gene Dolan’s birthday party. A challenge, what with knowing I’d have to go to Biltmore Estate for brunch w/ les parents in the morning.

10Ross writes in The Weight of Enthusiasm that the addition of Dulci Ellenberger to Holy Ghost Tent Revival as a full­time singer and player and songwriter — a development totally unforeseen by the author at the time of this journal entry — is, in fact, “a different story entirely (and makes for a much better band, too.)”

11Likely meaning that Hannah is doing lots of excited smiling and nodding.

A Great Visit — 19

. . .

Master Sprinter took us out of the mountains with ease. I was excited about being on the road for ten days, seeing familiar faces and having the band all together. We had been spreading out across North Carolina and Virginia over the past few years, so it was much harder to get together for tour than it had been when we all lived in the same house or down the street from each other in Greensboro. I took my phone out of my pocket and looked at our schedule12. “A little race?” said Hank. I looked up from my phone. Hank was holding a video game controller in his hand. He nodded toward the small television hanging down from the ceiling. “I’ll race,” said Charlie. He drew his hood up over his head. “Sure,” I said. We played three rounds of a racing game and three rounds of a fighting game, and I said, “I’ve had enough for now.” “Yeah,” said Charlie. “Gotta’ pace it out, you know?” It was a cool day. There was a touch of fog on the windows. Jason was driving. “Charlie,” he said. “Tell us about this house party.” “What?” said Charlie. “ I don’t know anything! ” “I thought you put it together.” “Yeah, well, it’s a party. What do you want to know?” Kevin said, “Tonight?!”

12I.e., *= w/ Hoots & Hellmouth 12.06 ­ Nashville, TN — The Mercy Lounge* 12.07 ­ Louisville, KY — New Vintage* 12.08 ­ Dayton, OH — S.R.S Rehearsal Space 12.11 ­ Chicago, IL — The Subterranean* 12.12 ­ Ann Arbor, MI — The Ark* 12.13 ­ Cleveland, OH — Beachland Tavern* 12.14 ­ Pittsburgh, PA — Club Cafe*

A Great Visit — 20

“Yeah! After the gig.” Kevin said, “Oh.” He cracked open his window and lit a cigarette. “Well . . .” said Jason. “Like, is there pay?” “ I don’t know. It just seemed like fun. There’ll be beer there and stuff, I’m sure. I know you guys are older than me but you still wanna have fun , right?” Kevin said, “I do want to have fun . . .” We rode in silence for a while. Charlie was reading The Catcher in the Rye. He’s got it bad, I thought. Kevin went to the back of the van and started fingerpicking his classical guitar. Its nylon strings were easy on the ears. “Get to work on those tunes you’ve been writing at all?” said Stephen. The guitar sounded very pretty. Kevin stopped playing and said, “No. I’ve just been working a shit­ton at the coffee shop.” “Nice.” Charlie looked up from his book and said, “Need to get some Kev tunes in the rotation, though.” I agreed. How we had met Kevin, actually, was playing a show with his older and younger brothers at a bar in Scranton in 2008 on our first tour ever, so he comes from a family of songwriters. That band was called And the Moneynotes , and I don’t think Kevin ever played with them per se . He joined our band in 2010 when he replaced Mike O’Malley, our original keyboardist. The replacement was Mike’s idea. Mike had simply had enough, so, Kevin packed a bag and moved to North Carolina — Stephen’s futon, specifically. “Anyone hungry?” I asked.

It started to rain as we passed into Tennessee. Matt was sitting shotgun, eating chili. I saw steam rising from his cup. “Is chili seasonal at Wendy’s?” he said. “No,” said Jason. “Good chili weather though.”

A Great Visit — 21

Matt looked up and said, “Gonna be a chilly sphincter tonight.” “Oh God ,” Jason gagged. Charlie hopped up and perched himself on the red travel cooler that was wedged between the two front seats13. “Hey buds,” he said to Jason and Matt. “Hooded Charles,” said Jason. “With the short hair, too. What kind of electronic music do you like to listen to?” We laughed. “Zeitgeist in’ out,” I said. “ And he’s reading Catcher in the Rye. ” Charlie looked over his shoulder and said, “Hating on the hoodie, guys?” “We’re not hating,” said Jason. “We’re just making fun of you.” It stopped raining. “Make fun, not hate,” said Matt. He peered through the windshield and said, “Yes indeed, boys. I’d say the sun is gonna come out tonight!” We laughed. “Are we staying with Amber?” I said. “Already confirmed! She’s recently married14 , too.” Jason cracked the windows. Stephen and he lit cigarettes.

13Aside from some soggy bread and spinach plus a few lunch meats, the cooler’s main load is a package of FinBrel, a pharmaceutical for treating autoimmune diseases such as Stephen’s unfortunate combo of rheumatoid and psoriatic arthritis. Steve takes — and is totally drained by — an injection of what he claims to be mostly shark cartilage every Monday, which leaves him comparatively pain­free for the rest of the week.

14It’s entirely possible that the author is changing names of people in instances where (as may be true with this case of Amber) they don’t maintain a public image or whatever, which the author figures must be an interesting but maybe sometimes boring kind of privacy what with how it’d be surprising or shocking to see that someone had written an opinion about you in a public forum or if like a total stranger tried to add you on Facebook or something because why would people you’ve never met be trying to act like they know you if you didn’t have a public image, and but wouldn’t that privacy be kinda nice, too, he wonders.

A Great Visit — 22

Kevin was still smoking his. It got cold in the van. “Now entering the central time zone, boys,” said Jason. Matt burst into song: “ Livin’ on central time! Livin’ on central time . . .

Jake’s Diner15

Age-wise, Henry Napheys Widmer and I are six days apart, and I’ll tell you, dear reader, that between he and I, Henry is the elder. He goes by Hank, really — he always has, and at this moment, he’s forking a healthy helping of hash browns into his obtuse mouth. His curly golden locks droop below his shoulders, mingling with his midnight dinner. He has a piercing in each nostril and a gauge in each ear. His teddy bear personality beams with kindness and generosity, which is probably how he got the nickname Hankles (rhymes with ankles). Hankles’ eyes tend to beg when he speaks, and let me tell you, dear reader, that speaking is something he loves to do. “So Ross,” he says, eyeballs softening. “You have drums, right?” I do. Hank sniffles. He hates uncooked onions and has a big, squishy nose. Our surroundings are familiar. Walls are violet and indigo, bathed in luminescence from neon tubing. We’re in one of Greensboro’s finest, smokiest, flickeriest late-night establishments. We Seniors at Greensboro College, we drink beers in our dorm rooms and go out to diners for coffee, fatty foods and cigarettes. This is before the city banned smoking in public places, of course, but

15From the first chapter of The Weight of Enthusiasm, an unfinished novel by Ross Montsinger.

A Great Visit — 23

I don’t even do that (smoke cigs). I do have a greasy double cheeseburger, but I stop chewing for a moment to see where Hank’s question is headed. Across the table sits a fellow music major, Jack Foster, one year younger than Hank and I. He’s cutting into his egg and cheese omelet with grave determination. “Oh, yeah. Nice,” Hank says. Jack Foster pauses the segmenting of his dinner and looks up. “Well,” says Hankles. “Do you want to be in our band?” The group he speaks of is Holy Ghost Tent Revival. I sat behind them on stage once during GC Live!, Greensboro College’s montage revue of student and faculty collaborations. The Jazz Band and HGTR were separated by a black, translucent curtain. HGTR played their song that was like, “When you’re walk-ing o-ver my gray-ayve,” and I sorta played along since I was at the kit already. I was just making it up. The Jazz Band director, with his back to the curtain and their performance, had this smirk like, “Who Cares?” I liked it, though. Jack was there and he did, too. They only played one song that night, but I know they’d written more. I remember being in Hank’s room and hearing some of their stuff on the computer; listening to music on our computers is another popular pastime — before going to diners, even. “Yeah, I’ll play with you guys,” I say. A glob of mayonnaise/tomato residue falls from my sandwich and onto my paper placemat, covering some attorney-at-law’s face. PLAP! “Why not?” I ask. Why not? “We’re playing at The Clubhouse this Friday,” Hank explains, pushing forward his plate and clearing his throat, “So we’re gonna’

A Great Visit — 24

practice for that, tomorrow.” “I’ll need to listen to some music,” I say. “Do you have a CD or something?” “Yeah, sure.” He wipes his face with a napkin, crumpling it. “I’ll make you one.” He sniffles. “You can come up with whatever you want, pretty much.” My plan is to listen and notate the rhythms onto page. This way, I don’t have to rely on my terrible memory. Don't ask me about, like, when an assignment’s due, types of trees, or say, kinds of cheeses. I can’t remember that sort of stuff — except Pepper-Jack, of course. When we get back to campus, Hank hands to me a square paper sleeve. I can see through a circular cellophane window a burned disc which reads T HE BLUE TESTAMENT DEMO in blue, elegant magic marker. A hand-scribed track selection is on the opposite end of the paper case, written upside down, and with no regard for its folding flap — the work of Stephen Murray, I’m certain. It reads: Steamboat Getting Over Your Love Down The Street Walking Over My Grave Needing You Safe in the Water In The Morning

I play, listen, pause, write, rewind, play, listen, pause, write, . . .

“ It was the day of the show and a very pretty one in North Carolina . . .” “Say, Stephen . . .” said Jason. “Could you open my backpack and pass me my lovely knit poncho?”

A Great Visit — 25

I thought about how I’d forgotten to bring m y poncho. Hank’s grandmother­in­law had made one for each of us. They were hand­knit in the colors of our choice and came with matching fingerless gloves. Mine was green. “Whoa!” shouted Jason. A white Freightliner went speeding past us on the left, blasting its horn. The van shook from being caught in the draft. I think I even felt Jason swerve to avoid drifting into the white Freightliner’s path. “That’s the worst place you could have put it, Steve!” I looked up from my journal. “Did it go out the window?” said Charlie. Stephen’s face was red and he was laughing uncontrollably. He shook his head. “No!” said Jason. Stephen said, “I don’t know what I was thinking!” “He put it right over my eyes !” There was silence. We drove into sheets of icy rain. I thought about how that would be a funny story to tell but then about how the person’s face I was telling it to wouldn’t look like I had said something funny but rather more like I should have been worried about the fact that we could have died. Matt spoke next. “Touring would be miserable without a windshield,” he said. Everyone was looking at their cell phones. “The Beatles did it, you know,” said Stephen. I said, “What?” “Yeah. In Germany, I think. They huddled in a pile on the back seat. Took turns whoever was on the top till they got too cold.” “One would think they could afford a windshield,” I said. “Well they had just broken it in a wreck or something and they didn’t have time.” “Maybe they didn’t have Triple A back then,” said Jason. Hank leaned forward from the back seat and projected his

A Great Visit — 26

voice16. “So, apparently the North is about to get hit with, uh, one of the biggest cold fronts they’ve had in years,” he said. “It’s true,” I said. I looked back at Hank. We smiled. I said, “Ever heard it called a cold snap ? That’s what my dad calls it.” “They’re calling this an Arctic Blast. ” We all looked through the front windshield. “Where in the North?” said Kevin. I said, “Oh, . . . all the places we’re going.” That made me think of a Dr. Seuss book. “Great,” said Matt. “You know,” I said. “I kind of l ike having a little winter training. Last year when I spent Christmas in Milwaukee with Adelyn Hope, it snowed when I got there and stayed on the ground for the whole ten days — kinda made the winter weather in N.C. seem a lot more bearable.” “You know s he got engaged,” said Matt. I said, “I do.” “To that guy?” said Stephen. “Yeah.” “Seems fast,” he said. Charlie said, “You miss her?” I said, “She knows what she’s doing.” I flipped through my journal and read an entry from six days earlier.

. . .

XII.XX.XIII — Sylva

I woke at eleven and went out into the kitchen.

16Hank Widmer’s projected voice is pretty much a subdued version of the voice he uses when commanding at Ragsdale High, where he leads marching rehearsals from atop a thirty foot scaffolding. He’s more soft­spoken since he and Ross retire in 2009, coinciding with Charlie’s graduation, and so this projected voice is now reserved for in­van announcements, usually made from the back bench seat. Mostly when Hankles speaks, which is becoming rare indeed, the rest of HGTR can’t hear him at all.

A Great Visit — 27

I still felt tired from tour. I checked the pot for coffee and knew that my parents had both gone to work because there was not even a splash left. I was actually happy because really I wanted to use the French press and my own beans anyway. I looked out the vaulted windows while the water boiled. It was a clear day and steam was rising from the tops of the Great Smoky Mountains. The trees that weren’t obscured by fog were a lush green because the sun was shining directly on them. I poured hot water onto the ground-up coffee and sat down at my computer. I thought about walking out onto the deck so that the coffee could brew, but I did not want my feet to get cold. I wanted to take a good look at the Tuckaseegee River from my parents’ deck, but I looked at the computer screen instead. The last words I had written were about the narrator not wanting to do anything. I didn’t want to go to Ann Arbor, it said. I didn’t want to get in the van or even get dressed. I stared at the blinking rectangular cursor and thought about nothing.

. . .

Finally, after arriving in Nashville, taking the wrong roundabout exit three times (“They’re both 8th Avenue South!”) and passing the venue twice, we found the Cannery Building, which is a confusing labyrinth in itself. There are multiple stages, art galleries, studios, offices and all sorts of meandering back hallways. There was a fashion show going on, too, I think. Everyone found the stage on their own and then made their way back to the van, one at a time. “Confusing in there,” I said. “Tell me about it,” said Jason. He exhaled a huge puff of

A Great Visit — 28

smoke. “Say, remind me again the names of the dudes from Hoots17.” “Sean,” I said. “Sean Hoots — main dude.” I perched up in the front passenger seat and started fogging up the windshield with my breath. “Todd’s on bass. Rob plays . . . mandolin, I guess — yeah, and keys.” Matt entered the van and said, “Give me that which sustained the Neandertals, Neandertal sustainer.” I passed him a lighter and said, “And Mike on drums.” “I don’t know why I even asked,” said Jason. “I won’t remember.” Matt made a sound like a deflating air mattress and filled the van with smoke.

We carried in some of our gear. Hoots were on stage checking sound, which is not an exciting process. I went backstage to the green room. There was an open doorway to the stage where I could see Mike Reilly sitting at his kit. “Hey Ross,” he said. He waved calmly with the hand that wasn’t holding drumsticks. “Hey dude.” He stood and we hugged. “Excited about tour,” I said. He said, “Yeah man. Me too. Ten days or something?” “Think so. Mind if I use your drums tonight?” “Go for it,” he said. “You can use them every night if you want.” I did want. What a peaceful dude , I thought. After their soundcheck and more greetings on the floor, we talked with the venue’s sound man and loaded our gear to the stage. I used my own cymbals and snare drum. Everything else belonged to Mike. I adjusted the angles of my cymbals and picked out two drumsticks close in pitch. A lot of drummers’ cymbals are clamped down so tightly they end up sounding like

17Hoots & Hellmouth, the band with which HGTR is touring.

A Great Visit — 29

bags of broken glass being hurled from the stage. That’s true for most musicians, I suppose, that learning how to hear what you sound like happens long after you think you’ve learned how to play. I found a tone I liked for each drum and then sat quietly while everyone plugged in cables, tuned, adjusted straps and knobs and mic stands, blew air through their horns. A voice suddenly assaulted us through the monitor speakers. “ LET ME GET STAGE­LEFT VOCAL, ” it said, distorting. We cringed. “Check,” said Stephen, after taking a moment to recover. He reeled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. One­two. I’ll take a good amount of that in my monitor.” He strummed on his Rickenbacker guitar. “Oh! Ahhh­ahhh. Yeah. That’s good.” “ Okay, bass vocal?” said the sound man. He was coming through at a better volume now. Kevin sang, “ I’m goin’ out on the — ” He cleared his throat and said, “Can I get some of that in this monitor?” He continued singing, “ . . . to them big trucks— Y eah. Okay. Can I have more of that?” He plucked his bass. “ Out on the high — Yeah. That’s good, thank you.” “Just so you know,” said Stephen. “His vocal and mine should be equal in the main speakers.” “ Okay ,” said the sound man. “ How bout stage­right guitar ?” “ Yeah! ” shouted Matt. “ Bread and butter! C hest. Chest!” He strummed on his Epiphone and startled himself. “ Oh! . . . Marky Mark and his Funky Bunch,” he continued. “ Ow! Mark Mark’s Funk Bunch! Chesting. Mar Mar Fun Bun. Mar Mar . . . Fun Bun.” He nodded his head sternly and walked away from the mic. “ Uh, okay ?18” said the sound man. “ Brass? Let’s do trumpet

18Rumor has it that some people in the band are secretly recording the bizarrely one­of­a­kind things coming from Matt Martin’s mouth during sound check (as opposed to the bizarre things at other times), but any evidence of such is hard to come by.

A Great Visit — 30

and then trombone.” Charlie played his horn and then Hank. “Could you roll some of the highs off?” said Hank. “ Okay.” “I play this clarinet too,” said Hank. “ Okay, go ahead. ” He did, and then said, “I sing too.” “ Okay, go ahead.” “You want me to do it into this other mic here?” “ Please .” Hank balanced on his tippy toes. “ Did it come to you knocking ?” he sang. “ So hard at your door.” He sounded very good. “ A slow sinking feeling, without knowing why .” I recognized the song he was singing as a Sweet Claudette tune. It is a lovely song. Hank stood flat on his feet and blew a few notes on his clarinet. It came through the speakers perfectly. “That should be fine, thank you,” he said. “ Okay ,” said the sound man. “ You guys wanna run one? ” “Can I check this keyboard?” said Kevin. “ Oh yeah. Okay.” Kevin sat down at the piano bench and played a few chords. He was still wearing his bass guitar. I held a drumstick in the air. The sound man said, “C oming back to you, drummer man .” We played through a song where Stephen and Kevin sang harmonies, and then a tune with Kevin on keyboard, singing lead. We played one of Matt’s songs, too. It was a thorough sound check. We were happy with what we heard on stage. “Thank you,” said Stephen. We went to the floor and were each given three drink tickets by Jason. “Thanks, Daddy!” said Matt. “Let’s go to Amber’s.”

I.XXX.VII — Greensboro

Woke at eleven and went to lesson w/ Pete —

A Great Visit — 31

freezing cold today, grateful for the short walk across campus. Saw no one in the lobby or on the way to the basement of Odell. My footsteps were loud in the stairwell but I could also make out the sounds of Pete playing something dreamlike on the piano. The door to G-20 was cracked so I went in without knocking and sat down at the drums. Pete never looked up or stopped playing. After basically playing T ake the A-Train for forty minutes, I had dinner — chicken sandwiches — and went to marching band rehearsal. Hank will be filling in as frontman for B lue Whiskey tonight . . . so that should be interesting19 .

. . .

We took shots at Amber Reed’s house with her and her husband to celebrate their recent marriage. I felt a butterfly in my stomach; I was expecting to see a friend tonight. At eight­thirty we drove back to the venue. I ordered a beer and, while watching the first band, felt someone tap on my shoulder. I turned around and saw that it was my old friend Kara Bergman. We hugged. It was good to see her. “How are you?” I said. A blonde girl butted in: “You’re Ross Montsinger,” she said. My name’s Dorian. Kara’s told me all about you.” “That’s not true,” said Kara. She blushed. “We’re best friends,” said Dorian, talking to me, referring to Kara. “That’s not true either,” said Kara. She’s a liar.”

19Cover band in which Jack Foster plays drums. Their singer/piano player has quit the band with two days notice and so they figure that if Hank can learn the words and hold a microphone, they’ll at least have themselves a show, even if it’s not a particularly on­key one.

A Great Visit — 32

I looked back and forth between them and said, “Yeah, me too.” Dorian said, “We’ve been roommates and best friends for years.” “Don’t listen to her,” said Kara. “She’s crazy.” The first band finished playing and in the newfound silence, my feeling of not knowing what to say amplified. I pointed to the stage and said, “I’ve got to go, you know, do that thing.” I went back to the green room. There was a pair of drumsticks and a practice pad that belonged to Mike. I had not drummed in a long time so I warmed up my hands. We took the stage and played a good set. It felt nice to be making music again. I went to the bar after and ordered a beer in a tallboy can. Dorian came up to me and asked why I wasn’t outside with everyone else. “Used to be Ross was all I heard her talk about,” she said. “ Ross, Ross, Ross, Ross, Ross . . . ” I said, “Oh really,” and decided to go outside. Snow was falling. Kara was smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. “I can’t believe how long you guys have put up with me,” She was saying. “I was so annoying.” “Yeah man,” said Stephen. “All those those shows back in the day at Michaelangelo’s.” “You guys were the age I am n ow ,” she said. “And I was . . . gosh. That was like, six years ago.” It was chilly outside. I buttoned up my peacoat. “And here we are,” I said. “Maybe in a few years we’ll be in Paris talking about how annoying you were tonight.” “What are we doing in Paris?” she said. Smoke or steam was escaping from her mouth. I smiled. “Don’t know,” I said. “Never can tell. But we’re playing a house party after this if you’d like to come.” “Yes,” she said. “I’m getting crazy tonight.” Charlie poked his head out the door and said, “Hey let’s get the van packed so we can get to that party.”

A Great Visit — 33

Since we had used Hoots’ drums and amps, there wasn’t a lot to carry. I hoped the rest of the tour would be like this. I ordered a whiskey on the rocks and drank it in the stairwell. Kara was introducing me to her other friends who had come to the show that I hadn’t yet met. She was very bubbly. Charlie walked past me and winked. “ Heading out! ” he yelled as he ran down the steps. “We’re going to catch a cab to the party,” said Kara. “See you there,” I said.

I found myself in a different frame of mind as Jason drove us through nighttime Nashville. I felt uneasy. I was reminded of how we had been pulled over a few months earlier in Wyoming, after a show, in the parking lot of our hotel, with Jason behind the wheel. What had happened was, Jason gave the officer his license and the registration and the guy went off and came back saying, “I’m actually having a problem with getting this to come up in the system, so if you wanna step out here for a second, we can talk about it,” and I was thinking, no way Jason, don’t even do it . Well, Jason does do it, and soon he’s taking breathalyzer and field­sobriety tests, both of which he passes, but his tongue, the officer claims, has a “g reen film” on it, and a green film is supposedly indicative of having smoked marijuana, and so the officer places Jason under arrest. They bring in a golden retriever who doesn’t even seem to have obedience training, much less drug training, but they say he’s given “t he signal ,” and so they search the van high and low. They don’t find anything, but they still take poor old Jason off to jail. We’re all standing around the parking lot, wondering what the heck to do. I decide I’ll check into my room and go to sleep.

Anyway, we arrived at the Nashville house party and I felt

A Great Visit — 34

relieved. It is stressful to ride around thinking that you can be arrested at any time for no reason at all. Another band was carrying their gear out of the house and people were congregating in the driveway. “The beer’s being taken away!” said Jason. “We better start soon or everyone’s gonna clear out.” We set up quickly and I found a private keg upstairs. I was pouring a beer when my phone rang: “ We still haven’t gotten a cab yet so don’t start till we get there! ” “I’ll see what I can do,” I said. I went downstairs and sat behind my drums. I couldn’t think about very much. The party was thinning out. Stephen was outside talking to his wife on the phone. We made a bit of noise with our instruments to draw his — and the crowd’s — attention. Stephen came inside and we played some of our oldest tunes. A handful of people were standing and watching, including Amber Reed and her husband. I checked my phone between songs. “ Now what’s a fun one to do?” said Stephen. We played a cover of Ooh La La by The Faces and I noticed Kara dancing in the crowd halfway through. We smiled at eachother. The rest of the set was very good. Stephen said, “I think I’m done singing, guys — don’t want to blow out my voice on the first night of tour.” “Then so are we,” said Matt. I went upstairs, poured a beer to share, and went onto the deck with Kara. She lit a cigarette. The sky had cleared but snow was blowing from the rooftops. The deck was covered in ice and very slippery. There was a man hunched over, sleeping in a chair. “Hey bud,” I said to him. “It’s cold out here. Want to go inside where it’s warm?” “Nnn nnn,” he said. “Is nice here . . .”

A Great Visit — 35

“I miss Patrick20,” said Kara. “I know,” I said. “You probably don’t.” The drunk mumbled something in his sleep. “Don’t miss him, I mean,” said Kara. “I think fondly of those days, but we’re all getting along better without him. I tried to hold off playing the old tunes until you got here, but you know how it goes.” We watched the snow accumulate on the ground around us. “You’re good,” said Kara. She exhaled a puff of smoke. We looked up at each other, kissed. “You’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” she said. “We haven’t done that before?” “Almost once but you were with that girl.” I said, “I’m joking.” “Made me go and get in bed with P.J. and Kim Newmoney.” I heard someone coming up the stairs. “There you are,” said Charlie. “We’re ready to go to Amber’s.” “K,” I said. Kara and I looked up. It was hard to tell between snowflakes and stars.

DAY TWO

I’d slept in a warm bed. It was dark in Amber’s guestroom and I did not realize what time it was. The television was on in the living room and everyone seemed lazy. It would take two and a

20Kara Bergman is referring to Patrick “P.J.” Leslie, Holy Ghost Tent Revival’s original bass player who, in 2010, leaves the group and retreats to a property in the Mountains of North Carolina to live near family, be wed, and raise children. At the time of Ross’s conversation with Kara, Matt Martin and Hank Widmer say, in so many words, that they basically can’t stand the guy, and while Stephen and Kevin likely don’t use such strong language, they are, at this time, chronically racking their brains regarding the band’s waning popularity and how it relates to P.J.’s departure. Charlie, on the other hand, might express some dispassionate combination of naivete and forgiveness.

A Great Visit — 36

half hours to reach Louisville. The van was covered in frost and it did not start right away. “Fuckin’ thing,” said Kevin. Jason said, “Gonna have to be real patient with the old gal.” “Gonna have to drive her off a fuckin’ cliff.” I ate a barbecue sandwich while waiting for the van to start. We said goodbye to Amber and her husband and their dog, Hank, and we got on the road. The sky was cloudy and the ground was white. It was freezing cold. “Log the miles?” said Jason. “Ah,” said Matt. “Nice mammary.” He was sitting shotgun again. He removed the log book from the glove compartment and said, “Read ‘em.” “Three, seven, six,” said Stephen. “Two, one, eight.” “I say ,” said Charlie. “It appears that I do not give a fuck today. In the best way possible, of course.” “About what?” I said. “Anything.” “ I’d say!” said Hank. I said, “I suppose I too do not give a fuck, then, now that I think about it.” “Come on guys,” said Sarcastic Jason. “It’s the day of the show!” Stephen said, “Looks like the van is also not giving a you­know­what.” He patted the dashboard supportively. “Not running right, eh?” said Matt. He sounded irritated. “Not really,” said Stephen. “Hard to get her over fifty­five.” Hank said from the way back, “I find that if we drive her for a while, shut her off for a minute, and turn her back on, she usually does a lot better.” “Shut ‘er off , Steve ,” said Charlie. Stephen said, “I’m going to wait until I see a diesel station. Choke two birds with one stone.” “That some Canadian lingo?” said Jason. “Why don’t you try

A Great Visit — 37

popping her in Neutral, turn her off, coast for a bit, and turn her back on; hopefully the wheel doesn’t lock up on you.” “Yeah . . . probably not gonna do that.” “You’re gonna wanna get onto U S 31­E up here,” said Hank. “I don’t know if E means East or what.” Stephen said, “K.” “Charlie . . .” said Matt. “Yes?” said Charlie. “Be a doll, would you?” “Oh,” said Charlie. “Okay, . . . ma­ma. Ma­ma. Goo goo gaga.” “Thank you,” said Matt. “And also, would you mind opening up my CD case and finding some John Lemon?” Hank said, “ Hey Steve , you’re going to see Interstate 65 North in two miles.” Stephen said, “Get on that?” Charlie said, “ No , just admire it.” “Thank you Charlie,” said Stephen. “ John Lemon . . .” I said. “Wasn’t he in that band with George P air ­isson?” Hank said, “And you’ll be on that for like a hundred and sixty miles.” Stephen nodded his head. He said, “I was always more of a Salmon & Garfunkel fan, anyway.” “ Here’s that CD you asked for,” Charlie butted in. He handed the disc to me and I passed it up to Matt. “65 North, you said?” said Stephen. Hank said, “Yeah. Up here on the right.” “Oh!” said Jason. “I’ve got one . . .” “Okay,” I said. “ P.B. & Jay­Z!” “Guys, come on ,” said Charlie. Matt inserted the CD into the player and carefully adjusted the volume knob.

A Great Visit — 38

“Yes indeed,” said Jason. “Spirits are high.” Music began to play. It sounded horrible on our tinny speakers. “ Turn it down please, ” Hank pleaded. After eleven tracks, the CD jumped back to begin again. Matt performed a masterful slow fade with the volume knob. Stephen, Jason and Kevin rolled down the front two windows to smoke cigarettes. The world was still very gray. Thinking about Kara was uplifting and confining at the same time. Everyone was quiet, our ears fatigued from the harsh speakers. I placed a pillow against the window, leaned my head into it and stared out at the dreary landscape. I started to notice the bumps in the road.

IX.VII.XV — Asheville

I ended up at Riverside Cemetery today. The old man with long hair and the older man with shorter hair were sitting on their porch again, drinking tallboys of Budweiser and Bud Light, respectively. Only the most ambitious of leaves have changed color and there was not even a hint of chill in the air. I came to a gravestone that had in front of it a plastic cup full of writing utensils, arranged like a bouquet. I had been needing a new pen for my journal since my G2 had run out of ink and so I squatted next to the cup and looked through without touching to see if any struck my fancy. A gnat flew right into my right eye and so I took that as a sign that I should probably leave the arrangement of pens alone. I stood up to walk away and noticed that the name on the tombstone read T homas Wolfe. I walked downhill until finally I found a nice tree to sit under that wasn’t too close to any headstones and closed my eyes for a bit.

A Great Visit — 39

I opened my messenger bag, took out my manuscript and made some changes that I’d felt were needed for a while now. My biggest trouble was deciding whether or not it was appropriate to write about Steve’s impending divorce. The old man and the older man were not on their porch when I passed by their house on the way out, but their beer cans were right where they had left them.

. . .

“Take exit 132 up here,” said Hank. “U S­60 Alt East ." Charlie said, “Oh, I’ve got one: Frank & Beans Sinatra! ” “Hey!” I said. “Not bad.” “Thanks,” said Charlie. “I had to stop myself a hundred times from saying ‘Snoop Hotdogg.’” We laughed. “Log those smiles ,” said Jason. “What?” said Matt. “I already — oh.” We exited the highway and made a few turns. “It should be up here on the right,” said Hank. “This place looks familiar,” said Kevin, squinting. “Have we been here before?” “What’s it called?” said Charlie. “New Vintage,” said Hank and I. “I think so,” I continued. “But it was called something else.” Matt said, “ Surely my little dick­watchers have never beheld this locale before.” We loaded our equipment. I carried in my cymbals, snare and seat. I set them down on the stage and went to the bar. “Any beer specials for bands?” I said. “Dollar off,” said the bartender. I bought an IPA for four dollars and left one for tip. I went into the music room, sat down at a table and wrote in my journal.

A Great Visit — 40

“ We finally arrived in Nashville and found the Cannery building after a few wrong turns . . .” “There’s a green room upstairs,” said Jason. “Follow me.” I closed my journal and almost bumped into our friend April Park when I stood. Amy21 is older than us but has a youthful glow and vibrant blonde curly hair. “Amy!” I said. “Hi.” She said, “Hey, Ross.” Her eyes were big behind her stylish glasses. She hugged me and then Jason. “How are you?” she said. We said, “Good!” Jason continued: “Tour has been good. How are y ou ?” “Great,” she said. “I hope it doesn’t s now anymore tonight!” I felt anxious. I said, “Jason, can you show me where that, uh —” I glanced quickly at Amy and tried to say “I’ll be back,” but nothing really came out of my mouth. Jason showed me to the green room. Hoots & Hellmouth were watching television on their computer. Matt was up there too. It is hard to be sociable before a performance sometimes; afterwards is a different story.

Our set was not especially impassioned but we played well. The venue’s sound guy had worked with us before and it sounded very clean on stage. We gathered at the bar while Hoots set up their gear. Amy ordered a round of good scotches. We drank appreciatively. “I’m glad the weather isn’t worse than it w as ,” said Amy. “I’ve got ninety miles to get home.” “How long does that take you?” said Matt. Hank and I smiled to acknowledge how silly a question we thought that was.

21The author originally changes Amy Clark’s name to April Park, but when he tells Amy (on an August night in 2015 where HGTR is drinking wine on Amy’s porch) how he’s writing a book, and she’s in it, but not to worry because he’s changed her name, her eyes widen and she’s all like “No, please don’t. I’d be honored to be myself.”

A Great Visit — 41

“Hour and a half?” said Amy. “I tried to get more folks down here but we’re all so busy with kids and life.” Jason said “Yeah, I bet they get tired of you asking!” “No kidding,” she said. “I wish I could come to this thing you guys are playing tomorrow in Dayton.” “It’s gonna be rad,” said Matt. “I gotta ask: How did you come up with the name?” Jason said, “Holy Ghost Tent Revival?” “Sign on the side of the road,” I said. “That it?” said Amy. “Was it the first name you guys thought of?” “Personally,” said Stephen. “I wanted it to be ‘S tephen Murray presents: Stephen Murray as Stephen Murray in: Stephen Murray and the Holy Ghost Tent Revival Street Band. ’” “Wow,” she said. “That idea got shot down, though.” Amy said, “But, like, how did it start?” We told her the history of our band, sucked down our drinks and slid our glasses toward the bartender. “So what else is new?” Amy insisted. “Oh, you know,” said Jason. We looked around at each other. “Same old,” I said. “It’s good to see you. We’re playing brunch in Lexington in the morning so that’s where we’re headed after this.” “You’re playing at a b runch ?” she said, intrigued. “Yeah we’re spending the night with our friend Homer who owns the venue.” “Oh?” “It’s a nice place!” said Charlie. “The venue or the house?” “Both, I guess. He’s house rich!” Stephen chimed in. “Homer traded a horse to the Queen of England for two pups from the royal litter.”

A Great Visit — 42

“Wow,” said Amy. “It’s going to be a two­act brunch,” said Jason. “Oh?” “Yeah. The first act is us getting drunk and full.” “Here’s to that,” said Charlie as Hoots & Hellmouth played their last note. We peered into the music room.

Origins22

Ross: It all started with a banjo. April P. Amy C: Oh? Stephen: Yeah, Matt had — well, he and I were roommates senior year of college and he had gotten one for Christmas. Matt: That’s what we wrote “Getting Over Your Love” on. A: Which you don’t play anymore. Charlie & Kevin: Nah. R: Well . . . Jason: Ross never says never. R: Never. S: But yeah, we started to write that and thought about how Hank and this guy Josh Lovings, our original rumpy player were — A: What is r umpy? J: Oh, you don’t know the rumpy?! R: That’s trumpet. A: Um. S: Anyway, Hank and Josh were just living on the other side of our bathroom with these horns and so it made total sense. R: And you guys wrote more songs that way. S: Yes.

22Transcript of previously mentioned origin conversation from T he Weight of Enthusiasm.

A Great Visit — 43

Hank: For a talent show. A: Which ones? M: “Steamboat,” I believe. S: “Needing You.” H: Maybe “Father Was a Bastard?” M: Yes. These were them. A: Wow! C: (R aises glass) Alchohol! A: Oh! M: No, that wasn’t one, Charles. C: I ain’t talkin’ bout the song, buddy. A: Oh? M: (R aises glass) You little stinker!

. . .

Sean Hoots said into the microphone after their last note, “ There’s no backstage or anything like that so instead of pretending we have somewhere to go, we’re just going to play an encore for you right now!” The crowd cheered. I wanted another drink and saw that Matt was also empty­handed. “Split a beer?” I said. “Sure!” I bought an IPA and tipped the bartender two dollars. “You guys will have to come back n ot on a weeknight soon,” said Amy. “My kids are dying to see you again.” “Oh we will,” said Matt.

The bar cleared out and we loaded our equipment out to the van. Stephen was in there with it running. It was cold outside and the sidewalk was slippery. I think a random person joined us for a minute or we talked to a passerby but soon everyone who was supposed to be in the van was in and everyone who was not supposed to be in the van was

A Great Visit — 44

out23, so we hugged Amy Clark and, with Jason behind the wheel, made off for Lexington. “How far a drive is it?” said Kevin. “One hour, twenty­one minutes,” I said. “Jason, you’re going to take Interstate 64 pretty much all the way there.” “Jank you,” said Jason. “I hope Homer’s got coffee this time,” I said. Charlie said, “I think his new girlfriend’s probably got that under control.” “We just got a message from her, actually,” said Hank. He leaned forward from the back seat to project his voice. The light from his phone illuminated his face. “It says: ‘Hey guys, Homer lost his phone somewhere between drunk and retarded, so, if you can call or text me with any questions, that would be cool.’” “Did she leave a number?” I said. “I hope she leaves the door unlocked,” said Matt. I think he was a little drunk.

We arrived at the house of Homer Cornelius. A large pizza was waiting for us in the kitchen with one slice missing. We circled around the island and silently stuffed our faces. The pie was good and warm. I had three pieces, went down to the basement and fell asleep.

23Someone actually comes by and talks about enjoying the show but expecting Hank to be the lead singer, what with his prominent placement on the poster and long hair and all that. Matt is in disbelief for a second but someone goes on to tell of a show in college where Hank — having a mohawk at the time — actually is the lead singer for a band and how it’s the first time all the original members of Holy Ghost Tent Revival are in the same place together. Even Patrick “P.J.” Leslie is there, who compliments Hank on his performance and then is introduced to Matt and Steve, who are writing HGTR’s very first songs. “That’s convenient,” says Patrick, because he has some recording equipment in a warehouse just forty minutes away. It isn’t until several weeks later when Matt and Steve return to THE WHERE?HOUSE to hear said recordings and they’re like, “Wait, do I hear bass guitar?” and Patrick says, “Oh yeah, I do that too.”

A Great Visit — 45

DREAMWORLD24

There is a naggingly beautiful, green hilly landscape that I think is in my head. It is a nice place to sit. Wind chimes can faintly be heard. There are brothy soups and chopsticks and sushi, and a fox that runs up and says hello. A stream can be seen but I do not go in. I do not have a home but the Sun it never sets. I take naps on top of mulch and, when it rains, sit at the mossy edge of a cave. There is a mattress in there for the months when it pours and pours. I don’t get hungry when it rains but sometimes a friend will visit with a basket full of grapes or quinoa & kale salad. She has long and wavy hair. She’s never been bored. She shares her food and lets me kiss her on the neck. She stares at the rain as I’m drifting off to sleep and is gone when I wake up again. She comes back and brushes her hair at the foot of my bed and tells me of the flowers she saw while she was away. She doesn’t want me to say how pretty I think they sound. The fox is curious about her, but she is very strict with it. I’ve never seen her skip rocks. Neither of us listen to music anymore. I guess there will be time for that when we are old. I think she is an artist; I have seen dried paint on the tips of her fingers. I want to ask, but—

DAY THREE

I woke up, took a shower, wrote in my journal and went upstairs. There was coffee in the kitchen. I poured a cup and sat

24A recurring dream as described in The Journals of Max Phil , another unfinished novel by Ross.

A Great Visit — 46

next to Jason in the living room. He had fallen asleep on a leather sofa. “How’d ya sleep?” I said. “Oh, good.” “Pizza was good.” “Yeah,” he said. “Needed that.” “Homer got coffee finally.” “I guess so !” Jason sat up and turned on the television so I went into the formal room where it was quiet. It felt good to be holding a warm cup of coffee. Homer’s two white dogs came running down the hall followed by Homer’s girlfriend Jamie and then Homer himself. “Oh, good morning,” said Jamie. She went on into the kitchen. Homer said, “You didn’t sleep t here, did you?” “No,” I said. “I was down in the basement.” “Awesome,” he said. “You found the coffee, I see. Once everyone’s up, we’ll make our way over to the restaurant for brunch.” He tried with both hands to brush a stain from his half­buttoned shirt.

We piled into the van, drove to our favorite venue in Lexington and carried in the equipment we would need. The ground was still covered in ice. I sat down at the bar and ordered a Classic Breakfast plus a Bloody Mary, then went into the music room and ate. There was a young duo playing. They looked like boyfriend and girlfriend. The guy sang Working Class Hero by John Lennon and played guitar, and then the girl sang T he Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson and played bass. I was happy to be hearing good music and eating good food. “For my next song,” he said. “I’ll recite my favorite Shakespearean sonnet, his 20th, to the tune of Bob Dylan's Blowin’ in the Wind. The rhythm and rhyme scheme is known as iambic pentameter.” He strummed a few bars before

A Great Visit — 47

singing, “A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted. Hast thou, the master­mistress of my passion? A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted with shifting change, as is false fashion . . .” I got what he was going for but it sounded like a lot of words for the speed of the tune. Next he sang the theme from Koyaanisqatsi. It is a Philip Glass composition from a film by the same name that I’d seen in high school. When you watch it you spend the first half hour staring at dry desert, but then it gets juxtaposed with rocketships and time­lapse images of bustling city life. The song is very strange and guttural. It did not sit well with brunch. Kevin made up his own lyrics and sang along: “ Dis is . . . dis­gus­ting . . . ” We finished our food and went on stage. It seemed loud in the room and I wondered if people were enjoying themselves. I noticed someone scribbling in a notebook for our whole set, looking up periodically. I thought maybe he was a critic for a music blog or something. I wondered if he found it odd that we were playing at noon, or if maybe the sound check was a little rushed. Our friend Drew was the engineer — a good friend, always passionate about the sound. Why would he do a bad job? Was he mad that we hadn’t been there in a while? He probably wasn’t mad and the sound probably wasn’t bad, either. Still, the man with the journal scribbled furiously. Stephen and I approached him after the set. “Hey,” he said. “Good to see you guys again.” “Oh hey,” I said. “Sup?” “I saw you last time you were here when the power went out.” “Oh yeah,” I said. “That was awesome.” He said, “I like you guys acoustic.” “What’s your name, again?” I said. “Guess.” “Bardo Krinkleburt,” I guessed.

A Great Visit — 48

“ David Guess,” he said. “I drew a picture of you guys, see?” He opened his notebook and showed us a sketch he had just drawn of Hank, Stephen and me. “Hey, we look like we’re from that cartoon about a magician,” I said. “That’s cool!” said Stephen. He took a picture of the drawing with his iPhone camera.

I went to the bar and ordered an Old Fashioned. The bartender made it doubly strong. “Looks good,” I said. She said, “It does. Something’s missing though.” “Yeah, I know. I can’t put my finger on it.” Kevin came into the bar and stomped off snow from his brown leather shoes. “Oh!” said the bartender. “I know.” She turned around and picked up a plastic scooper. I stood on the first rung of my stool and tried to see what she was doing. She turned around and said “Ta­da!” and dumped four cubes in my drink. “That’s the first thing you p ut in a drink!” said Kevin. “Fuckin’ cold out there, by the way.” We put on our coats and took the equipment out to the van. “Thanks again for having us,” I said to Homer, who was sitting at the bar, squinting at his computer. He said, “I’m trying to get this damn internet to work.” I went over to the router and looked at its blinking lights. I blinked a few times myself. “Oh, there it goes,” he said. “Be safe on your travels to Dayton. Where are you playing again?” “Our friend who lives in a renovated church is throwing a house party,” I said. “He’s got a huge room with a stage and everything!” The bartender poured a round of bourbon shots. I sipped half of mine and let Hank finish the rest. Kevin volunteered to drive and we headed out of town. The van was running poorly so we

A Great Visit — 49

decided to stick to minor highways for a while. I fell asleep in a drunken stupor and started to dream.

XII.VIII.XIII — Lexington

I dreamt I was riding in a car with Stephen. He was driving and seeming pretty depressed about something. He said that the way he felt, he was just going to speed up until we slammed head-on into another vehicle. I perched up in the passenger seat, turned sideways and said, “Do what you gotta do, man.” I curled into a ball under my seatbelt and shut my eyes. I heard the engine revving and felt ourselves speeding up, but there was never any collision. I woke up and wiped slobber from my face. “You n ever sleep in the van,” said Stephen. I said, “No shit,” and wrote the dream in my journal.

. . .

We arrived at the home of Jim Foreman, a sprawling stone cathedral in a quiet Dayton neighborhood. We unloaded our gear from the van. It was the coldest night of tour and I was very happy that I wouldn’t have to go outside for a long time. In the music room there is a stage, a sound system, floor­seating and a balcony. Jim rents the space to national acts for rehearsal, but this was his first time hosting a performance. A platter of grapes, crackers, pretzels and cheese had been laid out. I felt very tired. We set up our equipment and tested the microphones. I wanted to be alone for a while so I went to the living room. It took a long time to get there from the music room. I sat down on the floor and listened to the ticking clock. There was a corgi named Henry that lived in the house. He ran up to me and I rubbed his ears. Stephen came in and looked at his phone for a

A Great Visit — 50

bit. He seemed tired, too. The room was well­decorated for Christmas. I looked over my shoulder and out the window. It seemed very dark and cold. Snow was still coming down. It was good to be in a warm home. Henry ran out of the room and back in again. I climbed onto the couch and closed my eyes. I don’t remember our performance. Still, we partied afterwards. There was beer, wine, cider, snacks, and good friends. We had a jam and everyone tried various instruments. I did not join at first. Rather, I watched from the balcony while Kevin played drums, Charlie sat at the keyboard and Stephen played bass. They called themselves the B­Team25 . Stephen said “I don’t want to overstimulate you, Ross, but you should come play the drums.” So I did while others blew recorders, shook tambourines and banged on a toy piano. I was in a haze. The jamboree went on for hours26. When it was done, I made my way back to the couch in the living room.

DAY FOUR

I woke up and drank half a cup of coffee. The kitchen was crowded and filling with the crackling sounds of hot oil. Stephen was cooking eggs for himself. It felt good to be surrounded by my friends but I wished I could have my back to a wall. There were two bowls filled with grapes, one red and one green. I ate a few and opened an apple cider. I noticed it was a sunny day outside but I suspected it was still very cold. “We still going to Jake and Helen’s tonight?” said Matt. “It’s H elena ,” said Hank.

25When renting two separate cars eventually becomes the norm for HGTR, this term “ B­Team’ gets thrown around a lot, usually in reference to the other vehicle, as in: ‘Of course we’ve got time for Starbies (Starbucks); B­Team is probably w ay behind!”

26Charlie is concerned and says, “You alright, bud?” and Ross says, “Everything is happening all at once.”

A Great Visit — 51

“It is?” “Yep.” “Has it always been that way?” “It is Helena,” I said. “And either way, they’re expecting us.” “Guess it’ll be nice to not drink for a night,” said Stephen. “What the hell am I going to put in these eggs?” “I don’t know about you,” said Charlie. “But I’m having a Virgil’s Root Beer out the fridge as soon as we get there!” I said, “Hell yeah.” “How far is that from here?” asked Kevin. “Forty minutes.” Jim Foreman said, “Oh, where they at?” “Troy,” I said. “We’ve been going there for a long time.” “Jake and Helena Novik,” said Hank. “Real sweet people. They treat us well.” “Oh yeah,” said Jim. “I met Jake last night. Real cool cat, man.” “Christian,” said Matt27. Hank said, “One time with our older van we woke up and had a flat tire and they took us to buy all new ones.” “Oh yeah ,” said Matt. “At the Walled­Mart. That’s when Stephen and I pretended we were a gay couple in front of some neo­Nazis.” Jim said, “That’s far out, man.” “We got time to play some tunes before we leave?” said Stephen. “For sure,” I said. “Let’s just plan on showing up for dinner.” I left the kitchen, took a bath, dried off and went into the music room. Kevin was at the keyboard. He suggested we learn Wild Night by Van Morrison. It is a fun song for a drummer to play. It moves very quickly, and Kevin sounded good singing it. I

27Matt is trying to point out, with some distaste here, that Jake and Helena are religious people.

A Great Visit — 52

had listened to the record a lot and knew all the fills.

A COMET28

Murray Stevens slept soundly. His dream self felt light as a feather, lighter than ever. He looked around. He was standing on a tiny barren planet. Murray Stevens felt no fear. What he really felt, looking at the most luscious starscape he had ever seen, was awe. He walked straight ahead, looking down at the horizon. The seeming edge that separated his planet from nothingness stayed just ahead of his toes with each step. A shooting star flew by. The new stars that came into view as he moved toward the rounded edge of his world made his stomach rise up into his chest. Murray Stevens loves that feeling. On the other side of the world lay his trusty acoustic guitar. He picked it up but did not know what to play. He dared not even check its tuning. He watched another shooting star (Or was it the same?) as it flew past in retrograde. He stared as the speck slowed to a halt and as it then (Could it have been his dream self’s imagination?) got bigger and bigger. The dot seemed more real as it grew larger. He felt lighter and lighter until he was lifted off his planet by the gravity of what he could now see was a comet passing overhead. It flipped him upside down, and soon, he and his trusty guitar were planted on the hurling rock’s underside. In his dream-like wisdom he realized that

28One of HGTR’s first rehearsals with Kevin is within Jim Foreman’s stone walls, Ross remembers, playing a drum fill. A cymbal crashes; the author imagines Kev in a short story as A Little Prince , restoring sanity in these times to the band and others.

A Great Visit — 53

there w as no underside. His mind (or something else) quickly turned him right-side up. He strummed a chord on his guitar: perfectly in tune. He figured he would take a leisurely stroll to his new planet’s other-side as he had done before. He felt like singing but did not know what to sing. He realized two things when he got there: One, his comet had a moon. The moon circled at a dizzying rate. It was the kind of dizzy that felt like a warm, drunken blanket. The second thing he saw was a person — a short, frail-looking person with a trim beard and slicked-back hair. The person was spectacled. Most interestingly of all to Dream-Murray, this bespectacled spectacle was smoking a cigarette. Murray ran his clumsy fingers over the neck of his guitar, knowing that music would serve as a better introduction than words, but again, he did not know what to play. In a gesture of ice-breaking, the stranger discarded his cigarette (The butt floated out into Space.) and extended his right arm to say, in the Universal Language, “Give me that thing.” The stranger placed four fingers on the trusty guitar’s neck, thoughtfully, one at a time. The chord looked completely foreign to Murray Stevens. The stranger fished a pick from his pocket and lifted his wrist to strum. Somehow, Murray noticed, there was a fresh new cigarette in the stranger’s mouth. The sound of the chord was no sound at all but in fact, a literal wakeup call.

Murray Stevens looked around his bedroom, sweaty and confused. “What?” he said. “Hmm!” said his sleeping wife.

A Great Visit — 54

His sleeping dogs, buried under the comforter, said nothing. Murray fell purposefully out of bed with a thud. He wondered: Who was the strange person in the dream? Was it even possible to see a stranger in one’s dreams? He lumbered down the hallway. His clumsy footsteps roused the dogs, who in turn roused his wife, Mary. Murray found his guitar in the living room and rested it on a knee. He ran his right index finger lightly across the strings: still in tune. “Murr?” called a sleepy voice from the bedroom. Murray did not hear the voice, or at least did not respond. He struggled for a few moments to remember where on the guitar the stranger had placed his fingers. Who was that guy?, he thought. What was that chord? He noticed on the coffee table a pack of smokes. He removed one and put brought it to his lips. Mary and the dogs appeared in the hallway, angry and/or confused. “What are you doing??” she demanded. With the cig in his mouth, Murray’s fingers knew where to go. He grabbed a pick from atop the pack of smokes and strummed the mystery chord. The dogs sat obediently. Mary Stevens said, “That's beautiful . . .” Murray grabbed a lighter and lit his smoke. They didn’t usually smoke inside.

. . .

Jim Foreman ordered pizzas. They did not make me any less tired but it felt good to be eating greasy food. After practice, we unloaded our gear from the stone cathedral and into the van. We were not letting Stephen carry anything because of his arthritis, so in the freezing cold he smoked and thumbed at his phone. We

A Great Visit — 55

hugged Jim, patted Henry and headed north to Jake and Helena’s. The roads were flat and dark. We went through a small town and saw nothing but farmland for miles. We drove past the house at first but quickly corrected our mistake. Inside, we were greeted by their cockatoo named Sugar, and many cats. Helena had made chili for dinner. I was very happy to be eating a home­cooked meal. After dinner, we went into the living room and saw that there were gift bags for all of us waiting under the Christmas tree. Inside were black T­shirts, black socks, blankets and candy. There was a unique pair of pajama pants for each of us. Matt’s were covered in road signs that said things like Man Cave and Slippery When Wet. “Perfect!” he said. Charlie’s were black with white pirate skulls. He was already wearing his black socks and black shirt when he put them on. “Fucking punk rock!” he said. He looked around the crowded room and said, “Have you guys got a chess board lying around here somewhere?” Jake said, “I think I do . Let me look for it.” “Anyone want to play?” said Charlie. He was sitting under the Christmas tree, looking around the room. “Kev?” “You know I’ve already p layed my game of the year,” said Kevin. He had his legs kicked up on a recliner. “Don’t want to screw up my winning ratio, now . . .” “Batting a thousand?” said Jason. “You know it.” “I’ll play,” said Hank. He crawled over to the Christmas tree as Jake came into the room with a marble board. “Now Matt,” said Jake, setting down the board between Charlie and Hank. “Tell me about y our new song.” Charlie said, “Where are the bishops?” “What song?” said Matt. “The one that’s coming out on the r ecord, ” said Jake. “ Shadow ,” I said.

A Great Visit — 56

“What do you want to know about it?” said Matt. “Oh, I dunno,” said Jake. “Like, the lyrics and stuff.” “How about I just play it for you?” “That sounds like a great idea,” offered Helena. “Okay,” said Matt. “It’s called S hadow Only Knows .” “ There they are!” said Charlie. Matt grabbed a guitar and tuned it up. Charlie said to Matt, “I do not understand how you can tune a guitar using only pinch harmonics29.” Matt looked at Charlie and shrugged. He took in a quick breath and started his tune. Sugar began squawking. Jake grabbed him from his perch and they sat together quietly. I shook a plastic candy cane full of peanut butter cups as percussion. Matthew sang his first verse. Charlie and Hank advanced their pawns. Kevin and Matt sang the chorus together. The tempo broke in half. The guitar continued on but Matt now only spoke. It took me a moment to focus on his words. “. . . since my father died,” he said. “I been reaching out for someone — something — anything that lets me know that when I die, I’ve been chasing after something I want to.” I focused my attention on the chess game and stopped listening to the words for a moment, but Matt goes on about how what’s true on the inside isn’t always true on the outside. Charlie lost his queen. He snapped his finger angrily but still joined in chorus with Matt and Kevin.

“ Only your shadow knows Who you are before the show What you do after you go . . . ”

29When a player’s thumb or index slightly catches a string atop a fret after picking, the fundamental tone is negated, and a high­pitched squeal — a harmonic overtone — rings through instead.

A Great Visit — 57

Matt shouted, “ One time! ” and in the middle of the Novik household, with a crowd of eight people, a cockatoo named Sugar, and an untold amount of cats, hyped himself for the acoustic guitar solo of his life. We sat gathered around the Christmas tree. Our plastic candy canes and boxes of Whoppers shook with fury. “Very good!” said Jake. “Nice shaker, Ross,” said Kevin. “Thanks,” I said. “You too.” “Well,” said Helena. “That was wonderful but we must be going to bed. We’ll both be at work in the morning so hopefully, Stephen, you won’t mind heating up the casserole.” “Sure thing,” said Stephen. “Momma Murray!” I said. “You all have your usual spots,” Helena continued. “I’m sure some of you will be bothered by the cats, but . . . you gotta love ‘em!” “Good night,” we said. Jake said, “It’s too bad you guys won’t be able to come to the school tomorrow morning and play with the kids like last time.” “Oh God,” said Jason. “I’ve promised myself that I will never run again.” “Ah yes,” said Jake. “The hide and seek. Well, the music was good too, ya’ know, which is what I was referring to. I tell ya’, the kids really loved that.” “I bet they did .” offered Helena. Jake took Sugar to his cage in another room and then went upstairs to bed with Helena. Charlie lost at chess and sat on the couch next to me. He opened Jake’s laptop and looked at the Internet. “Okay now,” he said. “You guys remember I’m going to be missing the last two shows of this tour.” “What?” said Matt.

A Great Visit — 58

“Yeah. I gotta walk.” “Walk?” “As in graduate. My dad will kill me otherwise.” “Damn,” said Matt. “This better be the last time.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “Ross is going to be my date,” he said. I said, “Yeah, I’m going with. That’s why they were doing B­Team last night.” “ You jokesters!” said Matt. He tickled Charlie. I said, “Charlie really is leaving though.” “Oh.” “Yeah,” said Charlie. “I’m flying out of Detroit, which is near Ann Arbor30.” “How far?” said Matt. “Not very.” For some reason, the Noviks had a bunch of episodes of Friends on DVR, so we watched one or two of those. Stephen was the first to retire. We all went to bed shortly after that. We badly needed a night of rest. A drooling cat slept on top of me and purred the whole night long. I dreamt of being in the van.

DAY FIVE

Kevin entered the living room holding his green jacket and swearing. He said, “Jason, are we leaving right away?” Jason was lying on his sleep pad. “Uh, not immediately,” he grumbled. I spoke up from the couch. “We still gotta have breakfast and stuff.” The cat on my chest turned its head and squinted at me. “No show today so it doesn’t really matter what time we get to Ed Biondi’s anyway.” I realized it was not the same cat that had been there before. It scurried away. “A damn cat pissed in my hood,” said Kevin. “I’m going to

30A show is scheduled there in three days.

A Great Visit — 59

throw it in the washing machine.” He smelled the coat, cringed and left the room. I said, “Do you think he means he’s throwing the cat in the wash, or his coat?” Sugar was locked in his cage in the other room. He started squawking. “Guess I’ll be getting up then,” said Jason. “Awwk!” “Not like he probably even knows which cat did it,” I said. I smelled food being cooked and heard coffee being poured but I did not want to get up. I crawled under one of our new blankets and stayed there for a while. When I heard plates being banged around, I threw off my covers, stood up and went into the kitchen. The coffee was gone. Stephen was washing the percolator and putting it away. Sugar was shrieking incessantly now. “Awwwk!” “Love that ,” said Stephen. I thought about taking him out of his cage but the last time we did that, it was very difficult to put him back. We were afraid of accidentally hurting him or being bitten ourselves, despite Jake’s assurance that he would never do such a thing. I grabbed a breakfast of quiche, pomegranate seeds and hash browns. Stephen went outside to start the van. Everyone else watched curiously. Some smoked cigarettes. I finished my plate and grabbed another large helping of pomegranate seeds. I could tell that the van was having difficulty starting. I washed my dishes and went into the living room. The Noviks had a bunch of kids’ books stacked on their coffee table. I read A lexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day and then heard the van crank, people hurrying back into the house. “ ‘Sko ‘sko!31” cried Matt from the kitchen.

31A despised, efficient shortening of “Let’s go; let’s go,” that is used among the group to instill (ineffectively, usually) a sense of urgency.

A Great Visit — 60

“Is Kev’s laundry done?” I said. “ Oh yeah ,” said Kevin. “Barely even smells like piss!” I smiled and said, “Now you’re part of the Pee Coat Tour. ” Hank came into the living room holding a nearly full cup of coffee and looked around vacantly. Kevin went to grab his bag. “Give me that,” I said to Hank. “Please,” he agreed. I took two large sips and stood up. I knew it would no longer be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. We gathered our belongings and piled into the van. I looked at my phone and the route we would be taking. I was thankful that we would be sticking to farm roads for a few hours. It was frigid outside and the van was driving poorly. “Very funny,” said Kevin32.

VI.XXI.XV — Badin Lake

I woke in New London, N.C., brushed my teeth, wrapped a towel around my waist, poured myself a cup of coffee, grabbed my swim trunks, walked down to the dock, de-robed and jumped in. Actually I must have had some soap too because the first thing I did was wash my hair and then dive back under. The water was warm and refreshing. The weather had been hot in every city we’d visited since the beginning of Summer. I drank my coffee and put on my bathing suit while floating in the water. Jason and Kevin had to leave after a round of wet hugs for Asheville to return the rental cars. Everyone else had gone straight home from Maryland the night before. It was eleven AM. I jumped back in the water after the hugs and

32It is likely that Kevin’s out­of­place dialogue here exists because of a copy/paste error that the author for some reason likes and decides to keep.

A Great Visit — 61

floated on an orange noodle for maybe the whole day.

. . .

We rode quietly in the sluggish van for many hours with no change in the flat white scenery. There was no stimulation to aid in the passage of time until we started seeing little wind turbines popping up in the distance, lining the interstate as we approached Chicago from the south. They were spinning at varied speeds. Jason said, “No wonder it’s so dadgum windy today!” “Shoot!” said Kevin. “Dang wind machines blowing all over the damn place!” I chuckled and looked back at Charlie, who was not laughing. The highway had several lanes now, and a rail system running alongside it. Traffic was stop­and­go. “I swear I just saw a guy shaving while driving,” said Stephen. “Yeah,” said Matt. “I s aw that. He looked like he was texting, too.” “ At the same time? ” said Jason. “Must be using a Motorola Razr,” I said. “Whoa,” said Stephen. “You didn’t even have to think about that one.” It was a bad time to be driving into the city. Charlie was surfing between the seats. He said, “I’m sick of all these jokes; this is the worst van ride ever. It better not really take another hour or I might kill someone.” “Yeah, how is it taking so long?” said Kevin, sounding fed up. “Who would you kill, Charles?” said Matt. Charlie said, “Oh, probably you.” Matt said, “That’s so sweet!” His voice lowered. “Kevin,” he demanded. “What?” “Would you rather . . .”

A Great Visit — 62

“Oh no,” said Jason. “Would you rather: be given LSD, put in a space suit, stuffed down a cannon and shot out into the Cosmos with an eight hour oxygen supply . . .” He paused to let that sink in. “Or . . . take Ecstasy and jump from a Felix­Bumguarder­type space blimp with no parachute?” Contemplating this matter put everyone in better spirits, it seemed.

We finally arrived at Ed Biondi’s house after driving into downtown Chicago during rush hour and then out west to the suburbs. His driveway and porch were covered in ice. I walked up to the back door and knocked. I could see Ed in the kitchen through the window. He waved me in. I thought about saying “I’ve got to piss and shit,” but decided against. “Welcome, welcome,” he said. “I’m sorry I haven’t a feast prepared. I’ve been absolutely swamped with the opera this week33; I’ll be heading that way quite shortly so you boys are in fact just in time, I’d say.” “So you’re uh, in the opera?” said Matt. “What’s that?” Ed is hard of hearing. “You’re p erforming ,” said Jason. “Oh, I’m a mere choir boy, really.” Stephen was the last to enter. The door shut behind him. “Hence my inability to invite you all along,” said Ed. “Which I do wish I could do. In any event, Ellen is out of town this week so you’ll have the house to yourselves for a while tonight. The third floor, of course, is still the main option for sleeping.” He

33Ed’s got this beefy chin — one of those real muscular kinds where he looks like he should be wearing spandex and doing a bunch of pull­ups, no problem. Jason even mentions being envious of Ed’s apparent vitality, not that Ed’s physical fitness could really be confirmed by anyone in HGTR since they’ve never seen him do anything impressive apart from maybe shovelling snow from his driveway, but something about the thickness of his wispy white hair and clarity of his piercing blue eyes give credence to this 1920’s­Olympic­body­builder­type persona that he has. His bocci ball exploits are pretty convincing as well.

A Great Visit — 63

shook two spatulas in the air. “If any of you are cold or planning on going out, there is a drawer here with caps, scarves, mittens, all those sorts of accoutrements.” He pointed a spatula toward the center of the island and said, “You’ll see here that your special cups have not moved since the last time you all were in town.” There were seven paper shot glasses lined up across the countertop. Each showed the name of a band member written in magic marker. They all had uniquely shaped coffee stains to match. “Now, now,” said Matt. I said, “I don’t believe t hat .” “It’s true, it’s true,” said Ed. “We’ve worked around them every day for the last three months. That’s rock star treatment! We don’t do that when just any old band like T he Gourds comes through.” He motioned as though he was swatting a fly. “In any event,” he said. “I can prepare a bit of that for anyone who’s needing a lift.” “I’ll have one,” we said. Ed made eight espressos including one for himself and we discussed logistics for the next couple days. We were hungry. He showed us where his rice and boil­in­bag Indian food were kept and then left the house. I wanted to take a bath and get in my pajamas but I was dreading having to drive back into downtown Chicago to meet my old friend Callie Cahn so that we could buy weed. I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom when I heard Matt in the kitchen talking about going with. “Well I can’t let a man go alone,” he said. Jason spoke next. “And I can’t let a man not let a man go alone alone .” The three of us drove to where Callie Cahn worked, dined on cheese curds, shrimp, chicken thigh, and what seemed to be the world's best French fries. Callie had lots of questions about Mike O’Malley and why he wasn’t in the band anymore, and I did my best to explain that he missed being with his friends. I

A Great Visit — 64

ordered a stout to wash it all down. Matt had an IPA. Ed Biondi met up with the four of us when his opera was over. He agreed the fries were probably the best he’d had. It all tasted good and we were very full. A heavy snow fell the whole way home. I was happy by the time I made it into bed.

THE STORM

A voice says unto me, “We invite everyone for a reason.” The band breaks into song:

Everybody on the truck, Chuck! Everybody on the truck! Bring out your trash! Bring out your beer! Everybody on the truck, Chuck!

I’m riding in the bed of a pickup, playing music and collecting waste with the band. “Bring out your trash,” we say. “Bring out your beer!” Most only bring the latter. We toast in the excitement of good people, fun times. The truck fires up again, blowing black smoke. We repeat our traveling chorus. Our beverages spill and mix with garbage residue, coating the bed with a brownish watery filth. Mike O'Malley maintains his balance while playing an accordion. Our vehicle hops over molehills and skids around campsites. I pause my rooftop drumming to hear the conductor announce our next destination. “We’re going to see The Gatekeeper!” he hollers over the engine. “He’s been doing this forever and he never gets to see any of the good stuff!” We veer down a dusty dirt road, arrive at The Gate, kick off a tune and abandon ship. I’m drumming on a port-o-potty. Tarzan is here with us, yelling his crazy yell.

A Great Visit — 65

Time moves backwards. I see a living room and a kitchen in the middle of the woods with no walls. Stephen and Stephanie Murray approach me, eyes wide. “You missed The Great Storm,” she says. “The air was just like, charged! Everyone had to disperse and cool out for a while.” She takes a well-deserved breath in her excitement before continuing. “It was awesome, and yellow, and weird!” Stephen nods his head in confirmation. “It was like, two storms,” he says. “They came in opposite directions over the hillside." He locks eyes with Stephanie and says, “I feel like I made love to Mother Earth!” The sky blackens and leaves rustle. It seems that Time won’t have me miss The Storm after all. I seek shelter under the kitchen roof, perch myself upon a red cooler to watch the rain. It pours to the point of flooding. I’m curled up in an outdoor lawn chair now, fading. So and so says, “When you asked us to come here, did you know that we would be the ones who had to carry this on?” I hear a dripping against tarps, leaves, puddles. Insects chirp. Thunder claps, lighting the sky.

DAY SIX

We woke, drank espressos and suited up in winter gear, some of it borrowed. I scarfed down a bowl of cereal. Ed went out to shovel ice. It was zero degrees. We piled in the van and backed out of the driveway. Ed was out there in a red parka and ski mask, shaking his shovel at us. We drove to a studio in downtown Chicago and played five or six tunes in front of some video cameras34.

34The author is referring to an Audiotree session which can be viewed on the internet at www.audiotree.tv/session/holy­ghost­tent­revival

A Great Visit — 66

Afterward, we took a photo in the cold with our friend Kim Newmoney who was in town from North Carolina and then piled into the van and drove back to Ed Biondi’s house. I went up to the second floor to bathe. Ed came out of his room carrying a laptop computer. “How’d we do?” he said. “Good.” “Good, good,” he said. He walked past me and turned the corner to go down the stairs. I heard Matt coming up. “How’d we do?” said Ed. “Uh, great!” said Matt. I tried to take a bath but there was no drain stopper. I took a shower, dried off, changed clothes and went downstairs. We ate antipasto and drank espresso. I think we talked about Ed Biondi’s undefeated bocci ball team. “What time is it?” asked Charlie. Ed turned around and looked at the clock on his microwave. It was five twenty­five. “Oh, you simply must be going,” he said. “Leave these things. I will take care of it!” We put on our coats and loaded into the van. I said, “Have you been a proactive little navigator again, Steve?” “I remember how to get to the street the venue’s on,” he said. “Same one as Audiotree.” “ Damn ,” said Matt. “ He be good and shit!” “ And she’s driving like a champ,” said Stephen, patting the dashboard supportively. “Look, I can even put her on cruise control.” “Wowwwww,” said Jason. “Look at y ou .” Matt invented a song: “ Cru­zin’ on cruise control . . .” T he sun was setting as we drove through Chicago “ Cruisin’ at a con­trolled speed . . . ” We had been pleased with our A udiotree session and spirits were high. I sat on the back seat, closed my

A Great Visit — 67

eyes and listened to the rumbling of the engine.

X.X.XV — Somewhere

Today we stopped at a travel center on our way home from tour. We were in Pennsylvania or Virginia or somewhere along I-81 and it was a very hot day. I didn’t need to pee and I wasn’t thirsty or craving any munchies and it didn’t seem like we were in much of a hurry except for maybe Matt, and it was hot in the van and so I got out and walked across the parking lot — it was very bright — over to a little grassy knoll where some trees had been planted. I sat under a tree on the hill and crossed my legs. I hadn’t been sitting there very long but all of a sudden I had that feeling you get like when you’re driving and you take a second to think about what exit or highway it is that you’re supposed to be looking for and then suddenly you start thinking like W AIT, HAVE I EVEN BEEN PAYING ATTENTION THIS WHOLE TIME OR MAYBE I DROVE RIGHT BY MY EXIT AND DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE, so I opened my eyes and looked over to where the van had been. It was still there at the pump and no one was waiting on me. So that was a relief. I guess Jason had to move it, actually, to another pump or something, because I watched him climb in and start the ignition and pull away from the pump. I watched the Sprinter circle around the parking lot but then it disappeared. I was seeing all the vehicles of the travel center at once. My back was very straight. I saw that there were four separate entrance/exits to the travel center and that there was a steady stream of in/out flow at each of them; cars and semi trucks were not even stopping as they left

A Great Visit — 68

the lot. I noticed that there was a sea of overflow parking on the opposite side of the building in addition to the storefront spaces. I looked over to take note of the area that was used as overnight parking for trucks, which still had its own sense of motion. I tried to guess how many trucks were over there but maybe that part of my brain wasn’t working. When I noticed a tiny Hank exiting the store I knew we were probably ready to go so I stood up and walked down the hill and across the lot to the pump where the Sprinter was running. I climbed in and said that it seemed like we had been here for a w hile. Matt said it was a Goddamn h our, just about, but I stopped listening when Jason started to say, “See, what had happened was—

. . .

When we arrived at The Subterranean on Chicago’s W. North Ave. and parked behind Hoots & Hellmouth’s van, I noticed there was a plastic bag taped over their front passenger window. “That wasn’t like that before,” I said. Hank said, “Certainly not.” We loaded in, found the green room, sat down and wondered when beer would be provided. Hoots were checking sound. Kevin had said, in regards to the Would You Rather, that he would probably take the LSD and the space suit and whatnot. Everyone pretty much agreed, except, now that I think about it, Matt might have said he’d take the Ecstasy. There was a muffled knock at the door. “Hey guys,” said the knocker. He was wearing mittens. “It’s me, your booking agent, Mark.” We all fibbed that it was good to see him again and shook his mittened hand. He sat down on the couch. “When’s the beer coming?” he said.

A Great Visit — 69

We made small talk until someone came and told us it was time to set up the stage, which we did. We were the middle band so we would not be checking sounds. We returned to the green room and there was a cooler full of beer and a handle of bourbon. Mark had made himself a bourbon and cola. I did the same. We chatted about what bands we wanted to play with in the coming year: Mark shot down most of our ideas. “It’d be great to go out west again,” said Stephen. “We’re working on that for sure35 ,” said Mark. “You guys enjoyed it?” “Aside from Jason getting arrested,” said Stephen. “Oh yeah.” The opening act began to play. They were an acoustic duo. The green room mostly cleared out so that people could smoke cigarettes or watch the band. It was just Mark and I left to chat. As he was telling me about how his new boots were both practical and fashionable, Kim Newmoney entered the room. “Hello, puppets!” she said. She sat down and said, “I’m drunk.” “Hey Kim,” I said. “How’s it going, Bud?” I said, “It’s good. This is our booking agent, Mark.” Kim said, “Hi, Mark.” And Mark said, “Kim.” I said, “This is our friend, Kim. Kim Newmoney.” Mark said, “That’s your last name?” And she said, “Sorta.” “What have you been up to?” I said. “I saw Dr. Dog in Philly last week.”

35This tour happens in February and HGTR calls it The Town & Country Tour on account of how they have to rent two Chrysler minivans of the same name to get their gear and selves across the U.S. because of a catastrophic incident with Master Sprinter, and T he Town & Country Tour gets off to a pretty rough start indeed, what with Matt and Steve both having devastating finger injuries, which makes the fact that no one even shows up in Lexington, Kentucky (because of a raging blizzard,) kind of a relief, and they drive through snow and ice for most of a day to St. Louis where Matt learns to play the guitar again sans use of his mangled middle finger.

A Great Visit — 70

Mark was looking at his shoes. I said, “Nice,” and looked away from Mark’s shoes. “How was that?” “It was sad, man.” “Wha?” “I mean they were playing their new album. In the daytime. And it was their first time playing it, I think, and I was all depressed ‘cause of my breakup already and but they didn’t seem very happy either, faking their way through these new songs, and I was there just to photograph, you know. So here we are, all of us doing the thing we supposedly love and I’m not happy and they’re not happy.” “Uh huh.” “And then I’m like wait who the fuck is happy?” The rest of the band came back and made drinks. It was a small green room. People were mostly standing. The door opened again and a new person entered. I was thinking about how the LSD and space suit thing would be best because you could just watch the Earth spin as you got farther and farther away. “Whoa!” said Hank. “What are you doing here?” I did not hear a response. The freefall from a Space blimp would just be too much coming at you all at once. I looked up and saw the person was Hannah Kaiser, who was laughing and smiling tremendously. She shrugged at Hank and hugged him. Charlie said, “Hi!” I stood up and walked over to her. We hugged and I said, “It’s good to see you.” “Mmm hmm,” she said. She pointed at me and then threw her hands in the air and made a shocked expression. “Was I surprised?” I said. “Very.” “Hannah!” called Stephen politely from the couch. She curtsied, waved and giggled. “You’re still not talking?” he said.

A Great Visit — 71

I said, “She’s doing a whole year.” She nodded at me and then smiled at Stephen. “This must be day seventy­something,” I said. She gestured keep going with her hands. “Eighty!” I said. She led me out of the room and introduced me to a circle of friends. There was Katy who had flown in from Austin; Chris, who lived in Chicago, and Stan, her boyfriend. “You guys fly too?” I said to Hannah and Stan. Hannah turned an invisible steering wheel back and forth. “Wow,” I said. “From Asheville?” Stan said, “Do you know if there’s anywhere we can smoke cigarettes?” “Fire escape over here.” I started walking. “Past the coat check.” I pointed him toward the door. “Everything here’s always labelled F ire Escape, ” he said. “Never Exit .” I couldn’t tell if he was making the comment because of the Great Chicago Fire or if that thought just hadn’t occurred to him so I resisted saying anything. It was cold and I did not want to go outside. I went and watched the opening band from the balcony. A washboard player had joined them on­stage. He had good rhythm and was fun to watch. Charlie walked up to me with a bourbon and cola in his hand. “What’s old girl doing here?” he said. “Came to see a friend,” I said. “And us.” “Going to hang with her tonight?” I said that I’d like to. “I like this washboard player,” he said. “He’s good.” I saw Charlie look at someone behind me and then felt fingers on my head. It was Hannah. She frolicked away. Charlie said, “What does she do for a living that she can afford to not talk?”

A Great Visit — 72

“Travels the country and rescues animals, I think36.” “Ah,” said Charlie. “The other­worldly type.” Downstairs, the folk trio finished playing. I went to the green room and opened another beer. I walked down the spiral staircase to the stage and sat behind the drums. We checked the microphones and started our set. It was nice to see Hannah and Kim dancing together. Mike from Hoots had left his wind chimes and cowbells up on stage. I had fun adding them into our tunes whenever I could. Someone in the band always smiled when I did. It is funny to be playing a familiar tune and be surprised by the sound of new percussion. I headed toward the merchandise table but I was stopped by two girls. They told me about how they had enjoyed the set and then one of them told me a story about how she had recently admitted her crush to a co­worker and how she had tried to go home with him that night but how he had said he was tired and that he didn’t want her to, but how she thought there was still a connection and how she was doing her best to not text him for a while and I tried to relate by telling her about how I had kissed a girl that I had had a crush on for years and how I wasn’t able to do much about it and how I didn’t even know when I would be able to see her again and how I wished there were things I could say to make matters different. “Oh, also, a mute girl I’ve had a crush on is here tonight,” I said. I told the girls that it was nice to meet them and found Hannah Kaiser standing by the exit. Her friends had their coats on. “Leaving?” I said. Hannah started mimicking the shapes of letters with her fingers. “K,” I said. “A. R. A . . . Oh? Oh. Karaoke!” She nodded her head, stood on her tippy toes, smiled and laughed.

36When Ross hears about Hannah Kaiser two years later, she’s living on an island in the Caribbean, twirling fire for a living. Ross isn’t sure whether she’s speaking or not.

A Great Visit — 73

Her friend Katy spun around and put in. “It’s called Louie’s Pub,” she said. “Right down the street!” Hannah motioned for me to follow. “I gotta go communicate with my bandmates and stuff,” I said. She hugged me and went downstairs. Hoots & Hellmouth started playing. They looked dejected. After their first song, Rob said into the mic, “ Sometimes tour can really suck — some assholes broke into our van and stole all my dirty clothes — but we’re going to rock for you anyway! ” I went upstairs to the green room. Hank was sitting on the couch looking at his iPhone. I finished my beer and looked up directions to Louie’s Pub. My phone said it would take eight minutes to walk there and that it was zero degrees outside. I put on my coat, scarf and some mittens I had borrowed from Ed Biondi. “I’m going to a karaoke bar down the street,” I said to Hank. “Can you button me up?” I thought about the first time I had met Hank, when I had barged into his dorm room and helped myself to a look around; that had weirded him out, so he hurried me right back out the door. We were both majoring in music and became close friends after that. “There ya’ go, bud,” he said, having buttoned my coat. “Have fun.” I said, “Now I gotta pee.” I went down the stairs, wrapped my scarf around the lower part of my face and walked twelve blocks down West North Avenue to Louie’s Pub.

The van was rumbling deeply in the street afterward, puffing white smoke. “It was good to see you,” I said to Hannah. “Thank you for the surprise.” We hugged and I got into the van. I sat in the back as we drove to Ed Biondi’s house.

The Weight of Enthusiasm37

37A chapter from, yes, another unfinished Ross Montsinger story — Islands .

A Great Visit — 74

It had been very quiet at my parents’ home in the Smoky Mountains, and I’m getting excited to see my friends. This visit to see Mike Clark at a Mexican restaurant at noon will be my first relief from isolation since tour — lots of writing. I’m suddenly reminded of Hank looking at his phone as we rode silently through Tennessee, and him saying, “Did you know: A cat purrs at the same rate as a diesel engine — twenty-six beats ber pinute!” A host guides me to Mike Clark’s table. I sit down across from his bald head. “Hey Ross,” he says. “Hi,” I say. “Sorry I'm late.” “Will this be breakfast for you?” “It is,” I nod. “Are you surprised?” “Not really.” “Or perhaps offended?” “Not at all.” A waiter approaches our table. “Something to drink?” he asks. I see Mike already has a glass of water with lemon in front of him. I say, “I’d l ove a coffee.” “Sugar or c ream? ” “Lord no.” Mike smiles and says, “So how is everyone?” I’d met Mike, a professor of English, a few years earlier at Greensboro College, where most of the band had gone to school. “I suppose I only really knew Stephen,” he says. “We’re good. He’s good.” “So is he really the coolest dude on the planet?” I raise an eyebrow and wonder if I have portrayed him in that way. “What do you mean?” “I remember one day I was walking through

A Great Visit — 75

campus with a student and we saw Steve smoking a cigarette in front of the dorms. She said, ‘Stephen is so dreamy,’ and I said, ‘Too bad he smokes, eh?’ and she goes, ‘No. It doesn't matter because he’s Stephen f ucking Murray.’” “Ah,” I say. “Well in that case, yes. Yes he is.” The waiter returns with a steaming mug. I order a steak burrito and Mike, some enchiladas. “Coffee’s pretty good, actually,” I say. “Let me ask you something,” says Mike. I am looking at him; he is just above the rim of my coffee cup. “Are you guys really this nice to each other all the time?” He taps his fingers on the manuscript I had mailed him a few days earlier. I think for a second, surely I haven’t forgotten to include Jason’s constant sarcasm or how we always pick on Charlie. “I mean it’s really a love-fest you guys have going on,” he says. I sip my coffee and nod. “Guess so.” The waiter places a glass of water in front of me. “Gracias,” I say. I glance over at the red marks Mike has drawn on the manuscript. Mike looks at the stack of papers and then at me. “From the start,” he says. “I must say, I wish there was more conflict.” “But the van is acting all funny.” “Yes, well, no one’s sleeping with each other’s girlfriends or getting kidnapped or getting chased by the mob or anything like that, you know what I mean?” “Yeah.” I look down into my black coffee. “It’s a shame we’re so goddamn nice to each other all the time.” We laugh. “Also,” he says. “Maybe this is just because I'm old and sober, but I don’t find myself interested in the endless alcohol details. I’m

A Great Visit — 76

hoping that it all ties into the plot somehow.” It happens that I have a splitting headache from going out drinking with Stephen the night before, and memories of that are slowly coming back to me. “And what exactly does the title mean?” he says, flipping back to the cover page, looking up at me skeptically. “The Weight of Enthusiasm?”

DAY SEVEN

I woke up and did not want to do anything. I didn’t want to go to Ann Arbor. I didn’t want to get in the van or get dressed. I took off the clothes I had slept in, the clothes that I had worn the day before, and I put on my pajamas and slippers and sat at the edge of my bed. The thought of wearing pajamas made the thought of riding four hours to Michigan a little more bearable. I looked around the loft and saw that Hank was the only one still in bed. He was looking at his iPhone. Stephen came upstairs wearing his pea coat, hat, gloves and scarf. “Hank,” he said. Hank put his phone on his chest. “Do you know where the van key is?” “Oh yeah,” said Hank. “I brought it up here last night for some reason. Sorry.” “Okay,” said Stephen, patiently. “I’m just going to get her cranked.” “Oh. Well, I was gonna do that and drive her around the block, you know38 . . . She seems to do better after she’s been driven around for a while and then shut off.” “Okay . . .” Stephen turned around and trampled down the stairs. I rubbed my eyes, stood up and followed. Kevin was making espressos. I was not in the mood for one. Ed Biondi was

38Stephen and Ross wait a patient, silent beat, knowing that Hank will insist on further explaining himself.

A Great Visit — 77

in court. He is a public defender or something, I think. Matt was fingerpicking classical music on his guitar. I poured myself a bowl of all­bran cereal with almond milk and went into the living room. I sat down and stared into the fire. I did not think about anything for a long time. I wanted to write in my journal and realized I had left my bag in the van the night before so I went outside in my pajamas. There was ice on the ground. It should have felt cold but I did not notice. Hank was attempting to start the van. I opened the sliding door and stepped inside. “She’s making some funny noises I’ve never heard her make before,” he said. “I see.” I grabbed my bag from the back of the cabin, smiled at Hank and hopped out onto the driveway. I shut the door and almost slipped. I went inside through the kitchen and to the living room. Kevin was playing something very pretty on the piano. I reclaimed my spot on the couch in front of the fire and wrote. “ It was dark in the guestroom and I did not realize what time it was. The television was on and everyone seemed lazy . . . ” I heard shoes stomping on the mat in the kitchen and then the sound of Matt Martin’s voice. “Something wrong?” he said. I heard Hank’s voice next. It said, “I think the battery died from me trying to crank her so much. She was having a real hard time anyway and making some strange sounds that I haven’t ever heard her make before.” I heard Jason speak too. “It is zero degrees outside,” he said. Kevin stopped playing piano and listened with me to the conversation in the kitchen. We looked at each other for a second and then broke eye contact. “Yeah, hopefully that’s all it is,” said Hank. “Steve’s out there now messing with it. I think he’s going to call Triple A to see if we can get a jump from like a jump truck or whatever.” “Fuck,” said Kevin. He resumed playing. I laughed because it is funny to see someone get angry and then immediately play

A Great Visit — 78

something beautiful on the piano. Matt came into the living room with his guitar and sat down on the chair across from me. He strummed along with what Kevin was playing. I looked back down at my journal. “ It would take two and a half hours to reach Louisville, except the van was covered in frost and it would not start . . .” Stephen came into the house and stood in the hallway where he could be seen by everyone. Jason, Hank and Charlie were in the kitchen. “Triple A will be here anywhere between twenty minutes to three hours to give us a jump,” Stephen announced. “Hopefully the van will start after that.” Jason and Hank had walked into the hallway and were standing next to Stephen. Charlie came into the living room and sat down on the couch next to me. “How long does it take to get to Ann Arbor?” said Kevin. “Four hours,” said Jason, looking at his phone. “And we’re fighting against the time change. You’re supposed to be playing at nine so even if it takes the guy three hours to get here, assuming the van starts after that, we should be there with enough time to load in and play . . . I think.” “And maybe we could trade set times with Hoots if we have to,” I put in. Charlie stood up. “Guess I better pour myself a drink,” he said. He and Stephen walked to the kitchen. Hank sat down across from me and looked at his iPhone. “I don’t suppose a drink i s a bad idea,” said Matt. He propped the guitar on his chair and hurried into the kitchen. Hank looked up from his phone. “Do you think we could call Triple A and maybe explain we’re a band and how we’ve got to get to Ann Arbor and see if maybe we can’t get bumped up the chain a little bit or whatever?” he said. I wanted to be polite. I said, “No, I don’t think it’s possible to call them up and tell them to hurry.” “Maybe if we say we’re in a dangerous situation,” he said.

A Great Visit — 79

“‘A horde of ravenous groupies is trying to overtake our van,’” Jason suggested. Soon, he said, “Give me a bit and I’ll think of something better. Or at least funny.” I said, “I kind of doubt that it will take three hours.” “Steve!” hollered Hank. “Did you tell them to bring extra­long cables?” He stood and was carried by an unspeakable force into the kitchen. I was left to write in peace by the fire with Kevin playing piano and singing. A dangerous situation indeed, I thought.

V.XXX.XV — Wichita

“Whoa!” Said Stephen. He was driving. I was looking at directions on my phone when I heard the explosion. “He didn’t slow down or anything! ” I looked up and saw that an old white Econoline van had slammed into the back of an oil tanker across the intersection from us at a red light. Black smoke was coming from somewhere. The front of the Econoline quickly caught fire. “Should we — um, I . . . this doesn’t look good.” I said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” The light turned green and we started through it. I couldn’t help but look at the driver of the Econoline as we went by. The airbag had deployed; his top half looked kind of normal sitting in the burning van, but his blood and guts were pouring through the bottom of the driver-side door. The engine had been pushed back to where he sat. “Go please,” I insisted. Some guy had gotten out of his car and was approaching the burning Econoline. He was holding a black box.

A Great Visit — 80

. . .

It felt like less than half an hour before the service truck showed up. They got the battery charged, but the van still wouldn’t crank. They tried turning the key to the On position for a while to warm up the glow plugs. They tried starting the van in Neutral, which has helped in the past. We decided to call for a tow truck. We all stood gathered in the kitchen. “ Four hour window this time,” said Stephen. “God damn,” said Matt. “Better bring some of the instruments in.” “Shit, man,” said Charlie. “Does Ed know we might still be here when he gets home?” I went back to writing and watching the fire on the couch. Matt recorded a classical guitar pattern he had just thought of on my computer. Hank did stuff on his iPhone. Jason, Kevin and Stephen smoked cigarettes. Charlie now had to consider changing his flight to leave from Chicago if the van couldn’t be fixed before the shop closed. Enough time passed to where that seemed like the case. He borrowed my computer and went upstairs to confer with his parents. Jason and Hank looked up Sprinter repair shops for Stephen to call. Jason called a few places too. A couple hours passed before the truck arrived. We told the guy to take it to a shop that was two miles away where they charged seventy dollars an hour for maintenance. None of us went. We would take a cab to the shop if they were able to fix it before closing. Stephen called at five­thirty to ask about the status and they said they wouldn’t be able to look at it until morning. “That was supposed to be the best show of tour,” said Matt. “Yep,” said Jason. “With our biggest guarantee39 as well.”

39A guarantee is when a band is promised a flat amount of money to play a show, regardless of how many people end up attending/buying tickets.

A Great Visit — 81

“I’m going to be sick,” said Matt. “I don’t want to think about it.” He strummed his guitar. Kevin came over and sat down in front of the fire. He started positioning chess pieces into their proper places. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said. “You’re not going to break your one­game­a­year rule, are you?” “I was just keeping my mind busy,” he said. “But I’ll play.” I said, “In that case, it might be time for me to have a drink.” “It certainly is,” he said. I went into the kitchen. “Taste this,” said Matt with a wet­lipped smack. “Jim Beam and a splash of vermouth on ice.” He made the A­ok gesture with his fingers and gasped like people often do when they drink something refreshing, but it was so dramatic that he sounded in pain. He said, “It’s good — just needs a little something else, I think. Jason’s looking all over for bitters.” “ You’d think Ed would have some!” Jason called from the liquor cabinet. “You certainly would,” I said. I turned to Matt. “What if I put some blood orange in there?” I made the drink and it was delicious. I gave a taste to Hank and his eyes lit up. I went back into the living room singing, “ Cruisin’ at a con­trolled speed,” and sat down across from Kevin. Stephen came into the room wearing a blue mask with horns. “Oh God,” I said. “Actually,” said Charlie. “I think that’s the Devil.” “No,” said Kevin. “That’s P an . But what do I know? I only have a Ph. D. from Cornell in Mythology.” Stephen took out his phone and handed it to me. “Take an Insty40 of me by the fire,” said his muffled voice

40A photo for the social media platform, Instagram, which HGTR uses for promotion. Many users assemble a sense of self­worth from how many likes a photo may or may not receive in relation to their contemporaries.

A Great Visit — 82

from behind the mask. Jason came into the room and started framing a shot, too. “You guys going to see who can get the most likes on Instagram?” said Charlie. “Oh no,” said Jason. “I could never compete against the likes of Stephen.” “Wowwww,” I said. “Good tour for puns,” said Kevin. “ Hey guys ,” called Hank from the kitchen. “ I found a poker set !” Kevin and I looked at each other and smiled. “ We gonna play for money?” I called back. “Like anyone has any,” said Charlie. I said, “I’ve got a dollar.” Jason stood in the connecting hallway. “We c ould take the buy­in out of everyone’s pay at the end of the tour41 . . .” “Texas hold ‘em?” I said. “I’d assume,” said Charlie. Jason started dinner while Kevin and I played chess. Charlie had cancelled his flight out of Ann Arbor and booked one to leave from O’Hare the next afternoon. I surrendered to Kevin as I was in poor position and eager to start our game of poker. We shook hands, stood up and walked into the kitchen, which smelled wonderful. I made another drink, same as before but added a splash of ginger ale. The poker set included a green playing mat which we spread out across the island. All the chips

41End­of­tour payouts for Holy Ghost Tent Revival LLC are calculated like this: First, GROSS income is determined. This includes money made from guarantees, tips and door deals, 10% of which goes to the band’s booking agent, Mark (with the new shoes). Merch sales are then also added to this figure, but Booking does not get a cut of that. Next we determine the NET income by subtracting all expenses (gas, van repair, drumsticks, etc.) from the GROSS . And so the Net is divided evenly among the seven members of the LLC with 3% going to an accountant who handles taxes and the initiation of direct deposits into each member’s bank account; t his is the end­of­tour figure from which the $2 poker buyouts are subtracted.

A Great Visit — 83

had been counted and there were two decks of cards in the middle of the table. The bottles that had once been confined to Ed Biondi’s liquor cabinet were now dispersed over all available counter space. “Who won chess?” said Jason. “Kev did,” said I. “Still batting a thousand!” said Kevin. We played poker and drank liquor as our dinner cooked. Charlie and Jason were winning most hands. Jason had experience. Charlie had confidence. Matt had sunglasses. Hank and I both played pretty conservatively and I never got any good cards so my chips dwindled steadily. I was the first to go out and agreed to be full­time dealer. I did not drink a lot but as the game went on I became very tired. We ate Indian food and rice. I was happy to be full, but it made me even more sleepy. Matt went broke and bought back in. Stephen went out after that and helped me shuffle cards. Ed Biondi appeared at the door and shoved his face against the glass. He was wearing zombie makeup and a Santa hat. “Ed!” we screamed. Ed opened the door. He looked around at the state of the kitchen and said, “Make yourselves at home , boys,” seeing that we already had. He asked about our van and our plans for the evening and the next day. He told us about the party he was going to and said he’d see us later. I was still very tired. I said goodnight and went upstairs to the loft. I got under a blanket. It felt good to be alone. I had a dream I was in a featureless concrete garage. Far away, I saw the foggy form of Adelynn Hope. I looked down into a red cooler full of beer at my side and I could feel that she was not far away anymore. I looked up and we hugged. Everything inside that had been making me feel lethargic began to dissolve. After the hug, I opened a PBR and she, a Schlitz. I could tell she felt bad because she knew what I knew, that she

A Great Visit — 84

could not stay forever. It didn’t matter that she was getting married. We would meet in this weepy gray garage again.

DAY EIGHT

I woke up, took a shower, got dressed, went downstairs, drank an espresso and poured a bowl of cereal. Ed Biondi was in court again so we had the house to ourselves. I did stretches by the front door. Kevin was playing and singing L ook Out Cleveland on the piano. Stephen was on hold with the auto shop. Charlie came downstairs with his duffle bag and trumpet case. “I’m off, guys,” he said. “It’s an easy walk to the train and I can ride it straight into O’Hare.” “Love you, man,” said Kevin. “Have a good Christmas,” said Hank. “Be safe, now,” said Jason. “Congrats on graduating,” I said. “Thanks.” “I’m so proud of our little boy,” said Matt. He hugged Charlie tightly and then scratched him on the head. “Go to the left up here and then turn right at Grove, ” said Hank. “And I love you, bud.” “Love you, boys,” said Charlie. He went into the kitchen for a second and then turned around and walked out the front door. Stephen came into the hallway. “Van’s fixed,” he said. “What was it?” said Matt. “Guy said the cable to the starter was really corroded and actually coming loose.” “Damn,” said Matt. “How much?” “Four hundred.” “Damn,” said Kevin. Jason said, “Should we go get it?” “I’m going to take a cab there and bring it back,” said

A Great Visit — 85

Stephen. “Calling for one now.” I went upstairs to gather my belongings, which were everywhere. Dirty clothes were surrounding the bed and winterwear was on top of it. I flossed and brushed my teeth. Downstairs, my computer, its charger and my journal were all in different rooms. Stephen returned with the van and backed it into the driveway. We loaded our things and then our selves into the van. “Looks like we’ll be getting there just in time to eat and play,” said Jason. “The venue and Hoots both know we’re going to be late and they said that there’s no rush at all.” “And look at that,” said Hank. “Here comes Ed Biondi.” Ed walked toward us and stood next to the open sliding door of the van. “Ed!” we said. “What was the damage, boys?” “Four hundred bucks for a bad starter cable,” said Steve. Ed looked disgusted. “What a shame.” “Could be worse,” I said. “Always could,” said Jason. “In any event,” said Ed. “Come back when you can’t stay so long!” We laughed. “Thank you so much for having us,” said Kevin. “Oh it really is my pleasure, but I’m sure you must be going.” Stephen said, “No kidding.” “Drive safely,” said Ed. “Where are you going?” “To Cleveland,” we said. “Yikes!” said Ed. “Well, we’ll have quite the time whenever you’re back around again. I was just so busy, you see.” “Goodbye, Ed,” we said. We shut the sliding door and pulled away. “I didn’t hear him say ‘In any event,’ this time,” said Hank. I said, “Really?”

A Great Visit — 86

Charlie’s gift bag from the Noviks rode Cubby Two42 as Stephen drove us out of Chicago. Dirty snow covered everything but the roads, so, nothing much to see or say south of the city. The bag of treats would stay there for the rest of tour.

The sun went down as we approached Cleveland, which looked like a lot of cities. I pretended we could see the lake. We found the venue and loaded in through the kitchen and went to the green room in the basement. Hoots & Hellmouth were writing their song list. We ate chicken, rice and salad with lemon­flavored dressing. Jason gave us three drink tickets apiece.

III.XXX.XV — Sylva

I was laying in bed when the phone rang; it was Cassie Tubb43. I said hello and she said that she was calling because she wanted to tell me that Stephen had um, cut off part of his index finger with a rotary saw just now at work, but not to worry because Gaynold44 had already rushed him to the hospital and how she, Cassie, was right behind them on her way there now because of how she had to stay behind and look around the shop for the um, fingertip, which she had with her now in a paper cup with her in the car, and that she had my number of course and wasn’t sure who else to call. I thought for a second and then said, “Which hand?”

42The bucket seat behind the driver is Cubby One and the seat behind that is Cubby Two, named for their access to a little storage nook that runs along the driver side of the van.

43Co­worker with Stephen at ZenBloom Craftworks of Marshall, N.C.

44Their boss.

A Great Visit — 87

She said she didn’t know. I asked her to please think about it and then I realized she had been trying to maintain her composure on the phone this whole time and now she sounded noticeably more freaked out when she said she didn’t know for sure but she thought it was the left hand . . . but she didn’t know. I said, “Goddamnit, Stephen . . .” and then thought about poor Cassie and said, “Thank you for telling me.” I didn’t know what we’d do. Holy Ghost was supposed to leave for a West Coast tour in the morning and Matt had already severely injured his finger cleaning a crockpot.

. . .

“Who’s missing?” said Kevin. Stephen held up his hand to count. There were six of us at the table. “Charlie,” I said. It felt like more people were missing than that. I looked over to where Hoots were sitting and said, “How was Ann Arbor?” Rob said, “Oh. Good.” We heard a voice in the stairwell. “H oly Ghost is up! ” it said. Why did I feel the need to include the endless alcohol details, I might wonder, loading gear onto the stage. I had Jason order a well whiskey and gave him a drink ticket. Kevin had to borrow Todd’s bass because we had somehow left ours at Ed Biondi’s house.

A Great Visit

J: (Loudly) Did we forget the bass? S: (Sighs, lights cigarette.)

A Great Visit — 88

H: That’s a funny question. R: I doubt that we did. H: Why do you ask, Jason? J: I just got a text from Ed, it says,

. . . Bass guitar?

K: Fuck. R: What does that even mean? H: Could there be another reason he’d say that? J: Well, here’s his previous text:

G hosts, a great visit — just not long enough hang time due to my crazed schedule, despite your extended stay. With warmth, but ever-striving for cool, your tuned-up45 friend, E.B.

R: No, nothing there. H: And did you say something to that, Jason? J: I said,

A good friend, indeed. We’ll think fondly of you til our next encounter.

M: And that’s t rue.

. . .

It was hard to hear ourselves on­stage but we played well. We performed Kevin’s new tune in front of an audience for the first time and I thought it went over nicely. When we were done, we loaded our gear back to the kitchen. I went to the bar, ordered a Two­Hearted, sat at the back of the room and drank my beer while Hoots performed. I could not see the stage very well but I

45Ed’s lingo for being stoned (as enticed with surprising success by Matt Martin upon the safe arrival from their icy nighttime drive).

A Great Visit — 89

was watching the crowd more than the band. I drank half of my beer and wanted to be closer; there was a partition on the side of the stage that separated the band from the crowd so I leaned over its half­wall. I am standing near Todd and I have a great view of Mike, now. They are playing intensely, very in­sync with each other. I notice a girl dancing in the front row. She is smiling the whole time. I finish my beer and use my last drink ticket to order another.

The band ended with a bang and then played a very good encore. I sat at the bar and watched the room empty out. A middle­aged man approached me with our vinyl record under his arm. “Good job tonight,” he said. “Can I get you to sign this?” “Really glad you liked it,” I said. I signed my name. “And these,” he said. He handed me two CDs and a setlist. “Hah,” I said. “Nice.” A similar looking man walked up to us. “I’m Jim,” said the first man. “And this is my friend, Jim.” “Wow,” I said. “My first name is James, so . . .” “James Ross!” said Jim number one. “That’s a good name.” “Say, Jim,” I said. “We’re kind of still looking for a place to stay tonight. You wouldn’t happen to have any leads on where six gentlemen could lay their heads?” “Well heck,” he said. “My wife was already nice enough to let me come out to the rock and roll show. I don’t think she’d like it too much if I brought home the band unannounced. Say, you mind signing Jim’s stuff?” Jim number two handed me a vinyl, two CDs and a setlist. I finished my beer and walked back to the merchandise table where Jason and Hank were standing. Matt was sitting on a stool. “Any luck on a place to stay?” said Jason.

A Great Visit — 90

“No,” I said. “But I just told some guy that my first name was James and he was like ‘Ah, James Ross.’” “You met the Jims then,” said Hank. “Any word from Larry in Pittsburgh?” I said. “I texted him but haven’t heard back yet,” said Matt. “Hopefully he isn’t asleep. It i s about twelve­thirty though.” Jason said, “I called my parents and they said we could stay with them in Shelocta if we need to. It’s an hour past the city but we don’t have to be at the venue tomorrow until like six or something. I woke my dad up and he was like, ‘Hello? . . . Well, we can’t feed you and we won’t be here tomorrow,’ and I was like, ‘Hell yeah, even better!’” I liked that idea. Staying with family is always pleasant.

Leaving Cincinnati, Jason was driving and Hank was navigating. I rode Bottleneck46. I was very tired and curled up into a ball under a blanket. At one point, the sliding door came open but I shut it without really waking up. The drive took three hours. When we arrived at Jason’s parents’ house, I went inside and fell face­down onto the couch before anyone else had even made it out of the van.

DAY NINE

I suspected it was a reasonable time of day to wake up. It was dark in the basement except for the light from the fireplace next to where I slept. Stephen was snoring at the other end of the couch. I went upstairs and was disoriented by the layout of the house. I don’t think I had noticed the fire before falling asleep. I remembered being confused the last time we visited but found

46The position behind the front passenger seat is called The Bottleneck because of its claustrophobic adjacency to the sliding door. The effect of said claustrophobia is amplified if the seat’s occupant is not immediately ready to vacate the vehicle in the moment when others are trying to get in or out.

A Great Visit — 91

myself walking through rooms that I did not remember. I found the kitchen and noticed that snow was steadily falling outside. If the clock on the microwave was to be trusted, it was eleven­fifteen. I checked the coffee pot. It had the metallic kind of carafe so I could hear a bit of liquid splashing around when I shook it. I poured the coffee into a mug, fairly warm. Jason was snoring loudly on a leather sofa next to a large Christmas tree. I went back to the kitchen, sat down on a white couch and watched the snow fall. I didn’t remember a couch being there before, but perhaps it had been moved because of the Christmas tree in the living room. I decided I wanted to be in my pajamas so I went down into the darkness of the basement and out to the van through the garage. I enjoyed the coolness of the snowflakes landing on my head. I went inside, changed by the fire and returned to my spot on the couch upstairs. Kevin came into the kitchen. “Make coffee?” he said. “There was some left over.” He started a pot, put on his jacket and looked out at the snow on the back porch. He seemed disappointed. “Overhang on the front porch,” I said. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and went outside. Hank came downstairs and looked at the snow. “Wow,” he said. His eyes were half open. He went back up. I heard him shut the bathroom door and turn on the shower. Matt came down the stairs half naked and with troll­like posture. He had his book bag slung over one shoulder. “Made coffee,” he said. “Kev is.” He poured a cup and looked outside at the snow. “Holy shit,” he said. He went back upstairs but came back down a few seconds later. “Only one full bathroom in this house?” I told him there was one in the basement.

A Great Visit — 92

“Looks like an inch and a half out there,” he said. “A solid Steve’s dick’s length.” He went down into the basement. Kevin came inside, poured a cup of coffee and opened the refrigerator. “Grapes in here,” he said to me. “Hand ‘em over.” Jason moaned loudly and stood to his feet. “Oh, a little snowy­poo,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Morning, bud,” said Kevin and I. “Make some coffee, did ya?” “I did,” said Kevin. “But it tastes like shit.” Jason said, “Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,” in a surprisingly big voice. Matt came running up the stairs fully dressed. “Little Jasey’s up!” he screamed. They embraced and tickled each other. “ Yeah!” Jason cooed. “Little Jase is finally awake. I’m not a sleeping piece of shit anymore!” “Ol’ sleep­like­a­dick Jase Face,” said Kevin. Stephen came up the stairs from the basement. His eyes were barely open. He looked at Jason. “What kind of bizarro world is this?” he said. “Ross or Kev were the first ones up,” said Jason. “It was me,” I said. “Holy shit,” said Stephen. “Made coffee too?” “Kev did.” “Tastes like a dick though,” said Kevin. “No it’s fine,” said Jason. Stephen poured the last of the coffee into a mug and tasted it. “Gonna have a smoke,” he said to Kevin. “Just had one,” said Kevin. “Ah, fuck it.” They walked out to the front porch. “Is this snow gonna give us any trouble?” Matt said playfully to Jason. “Oh, this?” said Jason. “This is nothing.” “Yay!” said Matt. “I l ove nothing!”

A Great Visit — 93

Hank came downstairs and went to the coffee pot. “Steve killed it,” said Jason. “Can make some more though,” “Nah,” said Hank. “I got it.” I grabbed a small bottle of Doctor Bronner’s soap from my bag, went upstairs and took a bath.

I could hear constant conversation downstairs. It switched back and forth from playful in tone to serious. I heard Hank and Matt using the world “checklist” a lot. What did we forget this time, I wondered. I drained the tub, toweled off and went downstairs. Hank was at the stove. “Want some egg, Ross?” he said. “Oh, sure! Thanks.” “One or two?” “Just one, please.” “Want it runny or what?” “I’m gonna put it on a bagel,” I said. “So probably not.” I ate at the dining room table and watched the snow fall. “Looks like your cymbals got left last night,” said Jason. “Huh?” I said. “Shit, really?” “Hoots has them.” Hank sat down next to me with his breakfast. He, or someone, had drawn up a checklist while I was in the bath. Hank looked over each item thoughtfully. He tapped some of them with a pen and mumbled to himself. I finished my breakfast and stared out at the falling snow. Hank finished his, stood up and grabbed my plate. “Oh, thanks,” I said. I looked at the checklist47. “Jason,” said Stephen. “Do you think your parents would mind if I made a snowman?”

47Includes: Bass(!!!!), elec. guit­fiddles (2), guit. amps (2), bass cab. + head, Kev cable box, Matt pedals, BOXIE, Kick bag, floor Thomas, snares (2), cym. bag, hardware, seat stool (x2), keys, key stand, aux. perc. suitcase, bones (2), clari., rumpy (x2), flugelhorn, lil’ merch tupperware, big merch case, ROPEY, backdrop tube bag + canvas, MATT AIR MATTRESS, etc.

A Great Visit — 94

“Oh nah,” said Jason. “Looks like they’ve got plenty of it to go around. There’s some snow gear in the basement by the door — gloves, snow pants, hats, that kinda stuff.” “Accoutrements,” I put in. “Make a snow dog!” said Matt. “Right!” said Stephen. “I’ll name him Bardo.” I went down to the basement and gathered my belongings and then walked out to the van and threw my bag of clothes in the back. Master Sprinter was not starting. The lights were coming on when Hank turned the key, but the engine was not turning over. I walked up to the porch. Kevin was smoking a cigarette. “I hate this fucking van,” he said. “Well,” said Matt. “We haven’t taken any of the precautions diesel owners typically take in cold weather.” “Like what?” Kevin said defensively. “Well for one, they have these cute little heated blankets to cover the engine with to keep it warm overnight. Also, they have stuff they put in the tank to keep the diesel from freezing.” “Like rocket fuel, basically,” said Jason. “I’ll roll my parents’ van around and see if we can’t give this bitch a jump.” I went inside and sat next to the Christmas tree on the arm of a chair where I could look out the window at the van. Someone came and stood over my shoulder. “Might have to take Jason’s parents’ van,” said Matt. “Worst­case scenario,” I said. I watched Jason get into the Astro van, turn it around and pull it up to the front of the Sprinter. He popped the hood and Hank popped the Sprinter’s. Jason got a pair of jumper cables out of the Astro and handed them to Hank to untangle. “Don’t drop them in the snow,” I heard Jason say. Hank dropped the cables in the snow. He picked them up and wiped them off and attached one end to the Sprinter and the other end to the Astro. Stephen stopped playing in the snow and went to the front porch to smoke with Kevin. Matt went outside

A Great Visit — 95

and borrowed a drag or two. I followed. “Guess that auto shop fucked us,” said Stephen. “Better start loading Jason’s parents’ van,” said Kevin. I said, “We could try tapping the starter like we used to have to do48.” I went back to my spot inside. Stephen opened the passenger door of the Sprinter and took out a tire iron. He shut the door, went around to the driver’s side, got on his back and crawled underneath the van. He looked like he was making a snow angel. Jason came up behind me. “Now that’s a perch,” he said. I said, “I do enjoy this seat.” We stood in silence for a long time, until, for a brief second49, we heard the faint rumbling of the diesel engine. “That’s it!” I said. “It must have been shut off in Drive last night.” “Hmm,” said Jason. “It’s possible.” I went outside with my messenger bag over my back and stood at the front of the Sprinter. Stephen tried to crank it ten or twelve times. I opened the passenger door and spoke to him. “It’s getting better, I think.” I shut the van door and went inside the house. I had been snowed on pretty good. I went to the bathroom and dried off with a hand towel and then back to the living room. Matt was on my perch, looking out the window. He pulled out his phone. “Calling your brother?” I said. “Hey,” he said into the phone. “Nothin’. It’s cold as fuck up here and our van won’t start. Yeah. Zero degrees.”

48HGTR learns while stranded at a house near Wilmington, Delaware, pre­show, one day, thanks to a helpful neighbor, that going under the van and tapping the actual starter with a tire iron or something similar is a thing one can do when one’s starter is on the fritz, apparently.

49Ross and Jason watch silently with snow falling as Hank climbs into the Sprinter and tries to start it, Steve underneath; Hank exits and Steve stands up and they walk to the porch as Matt forms a snowball and beans Steve in the head. Steve says, “Oh!” and runs to the driver side and tries a start in Neutral.

A Great Visit — 96

I got closer to listen. “ Ya’ll got that diesel, huh?” said his brother. “Y eah, if it’s that cold it could be frozen up in there. What you might should do is get some of that anti­gel and you put that up in your tank to keep it gettin’ all gunked up.” “Like rocket fuel,” said Matt. “What, like each time we fuel up?” “ Yeah. Might could also be you need a heating block on the engine — keep it warmed overnight. ” “Okay we’ll check it out. Hank’s out there with a hair dryer blowing on the engine right now.” His brother laughed. “ That ain’t gonna get hot enough to do nothin’! You need a kerosene heater or something like that.” “Okay well, hopefully we can get this shit started.” “ Alright .” “Love ya, bud.” Matt hung up and went outside to tell the others what he had learned. Jason was pushing on the gas pedal of the Astro with his hand. I saw Matt say something to Hank and Hank stopped blowing. The engine was covered in snow. Jason came inside and stood in the living room with me. “What’s this?” I said. I saw the Sprinter’s headlights were staying on and I could hear the rumble of the engine again. I went outside and entered the van through the sliding door. It was still running. “Atta’ boy, Steve­o,” I said. “You had the faith,” said he. I sat in the back and put a blanket over my legs. Everyone else came piling in shortly after. Jason entered last and claimed Bottleneck. “Good work!” he said. “You missed Matt fall on his ass in the snow, though.” “Bardo the snow dog came out of nowhere,” said Matt. “He was there all along,” I said. “Oh wow,” said Stephen. “Well, all of us together made it happen. What I did this time was start it in Neutral, flip it to Park, give her some g—”

A Great Visit — 97

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said. We drove onward. It was pleasing to hear the fresh snow crunching beneath our tires, but we could hardly see through the windshield. Stephen started the wipers and turned on the defroster. Kevin, who was sitting shotgun, removed a bunch of stuff from the dash to unblock the air vents.

VII.XXVIII.XIII — Kemmerer

Everyone was pretty lost over what to do after J. got hauled off to jail. The rest of the band was huddled in the parking lot as if having a brainstorm, but they were just chugging cigarettes and swearing, so I decided to check into my room and go to bed. I was looking around on Facebook before I fell asleep and saw a quote I liked that seemed to fit the moment: Don’t recall, it said. Let go of what has passed. Don’t imagine; let go of what may come. Don’t think; let go of what is happening now. Don’t examine; don't try to figure anything out. Don’t control; don't try to make anything happen. Rest. Relax right now and rest.

. . .

At the end of Jason’s parents’ driveway, we turned right onto a bumpy road. We were moving slowly and had a long way to go. “Bitch is a beast,” said Matt. “Yeah, I’m impressed,” said Kevin. “I take back all the things I said about you, Van.” We reached the end of the street and slid a little as we turned

A Great Visit — 98

right onto a county highway. “There goes our first skid,” said Jason. “Did anyone grab the checklist?” said Hank. After a couple seconds of silence I said, “I saw it on the island.” “Me too,” said Kevin. I chuckled and said, “The thought of us forgetting the checklist was just too much for me to resist.” “Yeah I thought about that too,” said Stephen. “Me too,” said Kevin. “We should have put the checklist on the checklist,” I said. “Van’s running like shit, isn’t it?” Stephen said, “Oh yeah.” I said, “Maybe we should put some nice warm diesel in up at this gas station up ahead.” We stopped at the diesel pump and Jason went inside to pay. He came back out with a plastic bottle in his hand. “ Rocket fuel ?” I hollered. Jason stuck his head in the window. “Lubricates and protects engine parts,” he said. “Treats fuel down to negative forty. Boosts . . . see­tane? And cleans injectors.” “Wow,” said Hank. “Dump ‘er in,” Matt shouted. “‘Danger,’” said Jason. “‘Harmful or fatal if swallowed.’” “Fuck it,” I said. With the sun going down, we fueled up, dumped in the anti­gel and got back on the road. The highway had been driven on a lot and things were feeling more slippery than before, plus the snow was not letting up and the van was not running at full power. We rode in silence for a while through the frozen hilly country. We saw many cars on the side of the road. “I say we call Triple A, have them tow us back to the house and cancel the show,” said Matt. “Thing’s barely driving.” Stephen said, “She’s making it up these hills at least,” as a pickup truck went speeding past us on the left. He then said,

A Great Visit — 99

“Jesus!” “Four­wheel drive bastards,” said Jason. “Maniacs,” said Matt. He and Hank stood up to get a better view. I said, “ I’d like to be able to see, too.”

. . .

We carried on in this manner, barely any horsepower, over several peaks until we saw a Saturn, stopped, stuck on the hill in front of us. “Oh no,” said Kevin. “Get out the way, bud,” said Stephen as he steered us into the other lane. There was no oncoming traffic. We pulled up beside the Saturn, lost all momentum and came to a complete stop. “Fuckin’ shit,” said Kevin. “Not a very good place to be stuck,” I said. Jason opened the sliding door and started to push. It felt like we were moving ever so slightly. “Lil’ help?” he said. Hank hopped out and pushed from the rear. “I think we’re moving,” I said. Stephen said, “Can’t really see over this hill . . .” Kevin hopped out and went to the rear of the van. We started gaining speed. “Come on, baby!” Stephen shouted. I started to put on my shoes. The van regained some traction and started moving on its own accord. “ All right! ” shouted Jason. He stepped up into the open doorway, followed shortly by Hank. “ That’s how you do it!” shouted a voice50 from the stalled Saturn. Faster we rolled. Matt said, “Kevvy?” Jason shouted, “ There’s no time, Kev! We’re gonna’ have to

50These people are pushing their vehicle now as well.

A Great Visit — 100

leave you. ” But Kevin caught up and jumped in the van. “Nothing’s stopping us from making this show tonight, boys,” I said. “ Yeah!” shouted Matt. “I barely even touched it,” said Kevin. “Nah . . .” said Hank. “It was you who got us going!” Jason shut the sliding door and said, “Log those smiles, boys. Spirits are high, spirits are high.” We went over a couple more hills before another truck passed us on the left, and after it had gotten around us, as it was going down the hill, it started drifting and turned to the left. “Oh man,” said Stephen. The truck got straightened out, but as we followed over its tracks, we too started to drift, the nose of Master Sprinter turning left as we slid into the oncoming lane of traffic. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” said Hank. The van was sliding sideways down the hill and I was very glad that I had chosen the back seat because there were no windows to shatter or hit my head on. I thought about which way the cabin would spin and I breathed deeply as we continued toward the opposite guardrail. The van stopped about one foot from the railing Stephen straightened out and got us going in the right direction. “That was fun,” I said. Stephen said, “Well guys, I’ve definitely got a little pee in my pants.” “Yeah,” said Kevin. “I’m just going to text Alyse real quick and let her know I love her.” I saw Hank, Matt and Jason grab their phones as well. “I must admit,” said Stephen. “I did hit the brakes a little when I saw that truck sliding. I probably shouldn’t have” “You did good,” said Jason.

A Great Visit — 101

“Yeah man,” said Hank and I. “I saw mammaries flash before my eyes,” said Matt. “We’ll be on this road for two and half more miles before we get to a slightly larger highway,” said Hank. “Oughtta be a lot better plowed, hey,” said Jason. “Larry says they’re a piece of shit in Pittsburgh51,” said Matt. “Just rain though.” We went a slow, silent half mile and were near the top of a hill when Stephen let out what I can only describe as a fearful whimper in response to a large, bright, loud, fast­moving snow plowing salt truck coming over the hill in the opposite direction. Following in its wake was a row of cars taking advantage of the road’s comparatively high friction. The truck blew past us and the nose of the Sprinter turned right this time, and I could hear the ice crunching beneath us. “Oh God,” said Hank. “This is it!” yelled Matt. I still don’t know what he meant, but we slid sideways, and I saw the glow of our headlights on the snow­covered guardrail in front of us and on the trees behind that, and there was a thud as Master Sprinter’s grill came in contact with the steel barrier52 . “We’re okay,” I said. The collision had reduced our speed and turned us back in the right direction so on we went with the roads getting clearer and the snow turning to rain. Sometimes it appeared we were “the only idiots dumb enough to be on the

51The roads.

52Based on a conversation with HGTR’s former keyboardist Mike O’Malley, Ross enjoys thinking about the afterlife as being similar to a video game menu where you can spend some time reviewing the stats of your life and just look at data like “ How many steps did I take? ” or “ How long did I sleep? . . . in terms of weeks? minutes? snores?” Maybe it was silly. But you could compare your stats with those of your friends . . . or even with past lives? Sure; maybe some features wouldn’t be unlocked until later levels but a Wikipedia where you can know anything and a video mode where you can spectate, or rather, experience anything that happened anywhere ever. Of course, you’d get bored eventually and would probably want to do something with all that information. Why not play again? Perhaps even from a checkpoint?

A Great Visit — 102

road,” as Matt had put it. Sometimes we were behind rows of fifteen cars or more. Finally, we made it into the city. It was the least trouble we’ve ever had navigating Pittsburgh. “I’m ready for a drink,” said Stephen. Jason said, “I texted Dulci to tell her I thought we were gonna die and she just wrote back, ‘We were supposed to talk about that apartment today.’”

We arrived at the venue, went inside and told of our adventures, and I didn’t even have to carry anything since I had forgotten my cymbals the night before. The same was true for Kevin and his bass. Rob was standing at the front of the stage when we finished checking sound, looking concerned. “Quite the adventure you guys had.” “Yeah man,” said Kevin. “Here’s something that’s been on my mind,” Rob said. “ Where’d you guys go last night? Shela­wha­ who ?” “Shelocta,” I said. “Jason’s parents’ house.” “Wouldn’t it be better to get like, a Motel Six or something? Wouldn’t that be cheaper than spending money on gas, driving back and forth?” That made me mad. He wasn’t speaking directly to me so I walked past him as I got off the stage and ordered a well whiskey on the rocks and took it up to the green room and relaxed with the rest of the guys from Hoots, who were talking about getting Ethiopian for dinner. I had Jason bring me a slice of pizza. We listened to the opener from upstairs and it sounded like there was a large crowd, which was exciting. We played a good set53. Jason, Matt and I went out to the van afterwards.

53The author might do his best to say that performing is like flying over mountains on a day that starts off very foggy, but as you gain altitude, things become clearer to where when you look down you see evergreens poking through mountains and when you reach the end of a song, you slow to a hover and you can see a village down below, and sometimes it is lit at night and you can tell that something festive is happening and it feels like Christmas. But you must always fly on to the next.

A Great Visit — 103

“It didn’t even occur to me until now that that would be our last show for three months,” I said. “Yeah,” said Matt. He blew a cloud of smoke. “I felt impassioned halfway through. Not even for that reason specifically but also just cause everything we went through to get here tonight!” Jason laughed. “Ted, their sound guy, was like, ‘You guys hit a guardrail and you still came to the show?’” “Shit,” I said. I laughed. “Not just today — this whole week.” I thought about some of the bumpier numbers we’d played and said, “Kev’s new tune sounded great too.” I pictured someone in the crowd who had shouted, “Nice song, Kev!” and went through the lyrics in my head54. Jason said, “Here comes that little imp now.” Kevin got in the van. “Just talking about how good your song was,” I said. “Oh yeah,” he said. “It was good.”

I went inside and ordered a cider with my last drink ticket. “Hey, wanna shot?” I turned around and saw Larry Shrimp55 . “Sorry I missed y’all’s calls last night,” he said. “I was sleeping.” “Yeah we figured you probably would be. What are we drinking?” “Basil Hayden.” “I’ve never had that. It nice?” “Pretty much tarp shelf.” He beckoned for someone behind my back. It was Matt and Kevin. “Four more Basils, please,”

54I.e., “I came from the land of the ice and snow Can’t remember the last time that I seen home Caught an E­150 down to Caroline And I moved to the hills on the company’s dime And the company’s fine” 55HGTR lovingly calls Larry “their biggest fan.”

A Great Visit — 104

Larry said to the bartender. He raised his glass. He and Matt threw theirs back. Kevin and I sipped contemplatively. “It’s good,” I said. “And I got a thirty pack of PBRs waiting at the house.” I turned and listened to Hoots. I was holding my shot and my cider. Sean’s voice carried well in the room.

“. . . I don’t mind your cussin Talkin like you do Same as I used to When I was young like you . . . ”

There wasn’t much to pack up. We said our goodbyes to Hoots and drove up some hills to Larry’s house. We drank a lot of beer and listened to vinyl records. Larry said, “Y’all, this has been a fun night. I don’t know if we can ever throw down like we used to in Moundsville, though.” “Ha,” I said. “No way. Stephen got possessed at that place.” “ Oh yeah !” said Larry. “That whole t own was haunted, what with the burial mounds and the prison there.” “That’s got to be why they built that Hare Krishna temple up there,” I said. “Yeah man. They said there was a lot of bad energy they were trying to purge.” “I’d like to go back there,” I said. “The temple, that is.” Larry cracked open a beer. “Yeah, it’s a beautiful place,” he said. “They do tours down at the prison where you can sit in a cell overnight and just see what kind of weird shit haunts you.” “No thanks,” I said. “Seen my fair share of ghosts.” “It’s not for me either,” said Larry. Matt said, “I don’t believe in that shit . . . but I’d be curious! What happened to you, Steve?” Stephen said, “I just woke up in the middle of the night and I

A Great Visit — 105

couldn’t speak or anything. It felt like I was being choked or sat on or something.” “Fuck,” said Matt. “Yeah, I was in there with you,” said Kevin. “I thought you were having an asthma attack.” “I did see Larry’s naked ass jump over the couch and land on you earlier that night,” said Matt. “Maybe it had something to do with that.” Larry laughed. “Hell yeah,” he said. “I ain’t light.” We tipped back our beers and flipped over the vinyl. “That’s so cool y’all made it to the show after all t hat ,” said Larry. Jason said, “I don’t think not showing up had ever even occurred to us.” I lay on the couch with my clothes on while everyone got drunk and went to sleep. I put on one of my favorite records and turned out the lights. I did not have a blanket. “ . . . Keep the wheels turning . . . engines burning . . . ”

DAY TEN

We woke at ten and ate a breakfast of eggs, cheese and sausage. Stephen went out to start the van and it cranked right way. “Rocket fuel,” I said. It was a much nicer day than we had seen all tour. The sun was shining and we were headed to North Carolina. We said goodbye to Larry and headed out of town. Kevin, who was driving, said, “It’s a shame Charlie couldn’t have been here for our death­defying evening.” “Yeah,” said Matt. He could have used a good scare.” “I think he would have been the most scared,” I put in. Kevin said, “I’ve been trying to think about what he would have said.”

A Great Visit — 106

“Ah,” said Jason. “I can hear it in my head but I can’t do the impression.” “‘Hey Steve! ’” I said. “‘Why don’t you try and not get us killed! ’” “That’s it, actually,” said Stephen. “That little fucker,” said Jason, who was sitting across from me, calculating incomes and expenses from tour. He closed his notebook and turned to me. “What are you going to do with your fifty dollars?” he said. I rolled my eyes. Matt said, “Toll up ahead. One dollar.” Jason passed up a bill, made a mark in his book and turned to me again. He said “What are you going to do with your forty­nine dollars?” Pennsylvania and West Virginia were green, hilly and warm. It was nice to see places that didn’t have snow on the ground. We entered into Virginia as the sun went down. “I’ve made arrangements to stay with a friend in Tennessee for a couple days,” I said. “Before I go home to see my parents for Christmas.” The van stopped abruptly when we found the house. I was standing and I almost fell forward. “Merry Christmas,” I said. “I’ll see you all in three months.”

END, ETC.

A Great Visit — 107

A Great Visit — 108

A Great Visit — 109

The country isn’t quiet But the sounds in the valley can make me miss my friends I came up off the mountain And Fell down into the city Thanks to the weight of enthusiasm

A Great Visit — 110

A Great Visit — 111

I.XXII.XIV — Greensboro

After my meeting with Mike Clark, I called up some friends for coffee. We talked about TV — how people love shows like F riends because they just want to see people drink and not work. In New York City. We talked about my book and also their new record. I said I would be going to a party at the Backlot studio later and I implored them to join. We drank a beer, which made me feel pretty queasy. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink the night before. There were still a few hours left before the party so I went to the Murray household to lie down. Stephen and Stephanie were in their living room, watching TV. It seemed like they had just woken up. “I guess you’ve probably changed your mind about the party tonight,” I said. “Yeah,” moaned Stephanie from under a blanket. “I don’t even care about it.” I went to the guest room. It was getting dark and I started to feel that I didn’t care about the party either, but I thought about the people I hadn’t seen in a long time, and how I had told them that I would be there. I decided what I would do, I would go eat Chinese food alone to regain my spirits, then I would buy a hot tea and drink that all night long. That would be nice, I thought. That made me wonder, did I only drink so that I would have an excuse to be social? I ate roast pork, ordered a tea and went to the party. It was good to see my friends. There were people there that I hadn’t seen in months. I saw a guy who looked like he was probably in a band I knew. I said “Hey. Are you in Banditos? ” “No,” he said. “R olling Nowhere. Banditos

A Great Visit — 112

couldn’t make it tonight.” “Oh. What happened?” “Well, they were playing a show in New York, at Hill Country Barbecue. They came down and were going through that Snowpocalypse, you know, like they were coming through that whole crazy snow storm and then they got to Virginia and missed their gig because of all the snow, so they were gonna camp out there through the night; someone told them they could park their van at where they were at. They woke up the next morning and it had been towed.” “Oh no,” I said. “Yeah so they finally get their van out of tow, they get on the road and the van’s all fucked up. The tow truck company fucked up their drive shaft and they get stuck in Richmond, Virginia. They were supposed to play two shows tonight — one earlier today and then this one, then tomorrow night with us in Columbia and they’re missing like three shows, having to pay for a new drive shaft, tow fees and all that.”

. . .

If I am more in tune with my time­traveller side, I can tell him how, in a year, Master Sprinter is biting the dust once and for all at Midnight in the Canadian Rockies and how the Canadian mechanic is totally clueless about diesel engines. I can tell him how we get the van towed to the U.S. border and how the rest of us have to take a taxi, but the driver isn’t allowed into the U.S., so we have to walk across the line into Montana in a blizzard, one at a time. Master Sprinter dies for good there in Montana, so we beat the hell out of it with Whiffle Ball bats. I should say how we end up renting two cars and driving to Utah + Colorado, and then buying an RV for $2500 and driving it thirty three hours

A Great Visit — 113

straight back to North Carolina and selling it.

. . .

But that’s another story, so what I actually said to him was, “That’s awful.” “Fuckin’ horrible,” he said. “You would think that the tow company—” “No, they never pay for shit.” “You’re right.” I felt someone bump into me and said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” I saw that it was Kim Newmoney and said, “I didn’t mean to rub my butt on you." “It’s really funny,” she said. “At the Apple Store, when someone accidentally grazes someone’s butt they call it a s oft moon landing. ” I laughed and did an impression of someone saying, “‘I got a bunch of soft moon landings out there from that o ne guy.’” “How are you doing?” she said. I said, “I’m great. Whatcha’ been up to?” “Not much," she said. “Hanging.” I said, “My memory is fucked up. I feel like I saw you, like, two days ago.” “Did I not?” she said. “I feel like I saw you two days ago, too.” “That might be what it was. I don’t know. I don’t think we’ve seen each other since Chicago.” I thought for a moment. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been out at my parents’ since tour.” “God,” she said. “That's so weird.” “I can’t believe it. I mean I can, but— ” “Really?” she said. “It’s only been like three weeks.” “Cause you walked in and I was kinda like, ‘Sup Kim,’ and you were like ‘Hey.’ It was like

A Great Visit — 114

you know, we had b een hangin’.” “Well of course. Have we not been?” “It feels like we have.” We laughed. “I was supposed to tell you to bring down our bass guitar that we left in Chicago.” “So much for that,” she said. “Excited for more tour?” “I can do this for a long time,” I said. “But I might be living on a mountaintop afterward.” “I’ve actually never been here,” she said. “I would kill to have a crazy warehouse like this where I could just paint whatever I want on the walls and just go crazy, you know?” There was indeed some crazy shit on the walls. “Come to think of it,” I said. “Patrick used to have a place like this when we first met him.” “Do you still talk to him?” “Oh, a little bit. Not much” “Does he have a child now?” “She’s due, like, three days ago,” I said. “So any second now.” “One would assume.” “Damn!" she said. “That’s crazy.” “And I haven't checked Facespace today, so who knows.” “I need to find them,” said Kim. “I feel like their happiness and love will make m e happiness and love.”

The music and company were enjoyable. Charlie was also there. I hadn’t seen him since Chicago, either. I stayed at the party all night. It did not stop until five-thirty in the morning. I lay on a couch in my clothes and thought about all the changes I would make to my l ife book. I dreamt I was riding in the van.

A Great Visit — 115

A Great Visit — 116

A Great Visit — 117

Incomes/Expenses

12.08.13 — NASHVILLE — HIGH WATT Attendance: ~85 Comments: Seems like it becoming more + more popular. Good Sound. nice Room. Gross ...... 260 Merch ...... 0 Extras ...... 30 (House Show) TOTAL INCOME ...... 290 MGMT fee ...... 43.50 Booking fee ...... 26 Gas ...... 145 Tolls ...... 0 TOTAL EXPENSES ...... 214.50 NET INCOME ...... 75.50 Band Payroll ...... 60.20 (8.60/person) Amount to band Checking . .11.50 Amount to band Savings . . 3.80

12.09.13 — LOUISVILLE — NEW VINTAGE Attendance: 79 Comments: Great Venue. Jamie's probably the best sound guy (for HGTR's sound) that we come across Gross ...... 250 Merch ...... 34.59 Extras ...... 0 TOTAL INCOME ...... 284.59 MGMT fee ...... 42.69 Booking fee ...... 25 Gas ...... 0 Tolls ...... 0 TOTAL EXPENSES ...... 67.69 NET INCOME ...... 216.90 Band Payroll ...... 173.39 (24.77/person) Amount to band Checking . .32.54 Amount to band Savings . . 10.85

12.10.13 — LEXINGTON — WILLIE'S BRUNCH Comments: (Off the Record) Gross ...... 98 Merch ...... 82.66 Extras ...... 0 TOTAL INCOME ...... 180.66 MGMT fee ...... 0 Booking fee ...... 0 Gas ...... 0 Tolls ...... 0

A Great Visit — 118

TOTAL EXPENSES . . . 0 NET INCOME ...... 180.66 Band Payroll ...... 144.41 (20.63/person) Amount to band Checking . .27.10 Amount to band Savings . . 9.03

12.10.13 — DAYTON HOUSE SHOW Attendance: 20 Comments: Love Jim + Ellen Gross ...... 80 Merch ...... 60 Extras ...... 0 TOTAL INCOME ...... 140 MGMT fee ...... 0 Booking fee ...... 0 Gas ...... 0 Tolls ...... 0 TOTAL EXPENSES . . . 0 NET INCOME ...... 140 Band Payroll ...... 112 (16/person) Amount to band Checking . .27 Amount to band Savings . . 7

12.11.13 — C HICAGO — SUBTERRANEAN Attendance: 63 Comments: Pretty Good Sound. Extremely cold that night. I hear the Wicker Park area is one of the new Chicago hotspots Gross ...... 58 Merch ...... 14.59 Extras ...... 0 TOTAL INCOME ...... 72.59 MGMT fee ...... 10.89 Booking fee ...... 5.80 Gas ...... 140 Tolls ...... 0 TOTAL EXPENSES . . . 156.96 NET INCOME ...... (-84.1) Band Payroll ...... 0 Amount to band Checking . .0 Amount to band Savings . . 0

12.12.13 — A NN ARBOR — THE ARK *MISSED GIG — VAN BREAKDOWN*

12.13.13 — C LEVELAND — BEACHLAND TAVERN Attendance: ~60 Comments: Sound Guy was bartending while HGTR was on stage.

A Great Visit — 119

Pretty unique move. Gross ...... 250 Merch ...... 108.62 Extras ...... 0 TOTAL INCOME ...... 358.62 MGMT fee ...... 53.79 Booking fee ...... 25 Gas ...... 65 Tolls ...... 31.4 TOTAL EXPENSES ...... 175.19 NET INCOME ...... 183.43 Band Payroll ...... 146.65 (20.95/person) Amount to band Checking . .27.51 Amount to band Savings . . 9.17

12.14.13 — C LUB CAFE — PITTSBURGH Attendance: 100 Comments: Always good sound + Professional folks @ Club Cafe. Wouldn't mind playing the Thunderbird Cafe next time though. Gross ...... 243.99 Merch ...... 93.90 Extras ...... 0 TOTAL INCOME ...... 337.89 MGMT fee ...... 50.68 Booking fee ...... 24.40 Gas ...... 185 Tolls ...... 6.15 TOTAL EXPENSES...... 266.23 NET INCOME ...... 71.66 Band Payroll ...... 57.26 (8.18/person) Amount to band Checking . .10.75 Amount to band Savings . . 3.58

***

A Great Visit — 120

A Great Visit — 121