Note: I still have trouble figuring out the chronological order shit on Blogger, and I really don't wanty everyone to have to scroll through posts from day one in order to find this one at the bottom. So if you haven't read Chapter One of "How UncleFucker Got Kicked Off Tour" you should click here to avoid scrolling. Hugs and kisses!
Chapter 2: Undeclared War with Tub Ring
The second pillar in our demise (and this will be a bit shorter than the first chapter) was the undeclared, low-level war that Boogie was carrying out against Tub Ring. I think all of us were involved to a degree, at first, in badmouthing the band, at least among ourselves and in the confines of the van. And at first, they were a bit snotty and standoffish. None of the guys from Tub Ring went out of their way to be friendly toward us in the way we had gone out of our way to be friendly towards them, but in a much larger sense, whether I was friends with the other band or not was immaterial. When I go on tour, I am there to to ROOOOOOOCK!!!!!!!!! and any friends I make along the way are just gravy. That said, I am the kind of person who makes friends quickly and easily, and although some of my bandmates may disagree, I became very fond of a number of the guys in Tub Ring, who I think were perfectly nice. Jason, their bass player, was a little quiet and standoffish at first, but once we got to talking he was charming, funny, and down-to-earth. Their drummer Dave and I broke the ice finally in Louisville Kentucky, downing beers at the bar and babbling about girls and football. Rob the keyboard player was one of the most mellow people I have ever met: when he wasn't onstage, he was completely dormant, sleeping on the sofa or the floor or wherever he could find a spot to sack out. I wasn't exactly surprised when we got into a conversation on Buddhism, Zen, and philosophy in general toward the end of the trip. Their guitar player Sean was always happy to loan me a cable when I needed it or a tuner or what-have-you. In short, there was no need for the constant backbiting and bitching I was hearing from my bandmates.
Yet there it was. In the van on the way to a gig. "Tub Ring this, Tub Ring that." Boogie tagged their cases with his name. Jamie ond Boog got into a fistfight (with each other) in Tub Ring's van, giving Donna their merchandise girl a nasty lump on her head in the melee. Who was it acting like Spider-Man and leaping on the roof of the van? Who was drinking all their beer and stealing cases of water? Who was it getting drunk and getting in the band's faces? Who was bitching that there wasn't enough room for Uncle Fucker's goods at the merchandise table? Again and again and again and again. It boggles the mind. I came home from tour with a dozen new names in my cellphone because when I go out on the road, I make friends.
What is the point of making enemies? To this day, I have no idea whether this was professional jealousy or just plain old obnoxious behavior that grew into something more malicious. My bandmates can call Tub Ring a bunch of dicks all they like, but you know, when you treat people like their dicks, they tend to be dicks right back.
So anyway, that's chapter 2.
Chapter 2: Undeclared War with Tub Ring
The second pillar in our demise (and this will be a bit shorter than the first chapter) was the undeclared, low-level war that Boogie was carrying out against Tub Ring. I think all of us were involved to a degree, at first, in badmouthing the band, at least among ourselves and in the confines of the van. And at first, they were a bit snotty and standoffish. None of the guys from Tub Ring went out of their way to be friendly toward us in the way we had gone out of our way to be friendly towards them, but in a much larger sense, whether I was friends with the other band or not was immaterial. When I go on tour, I am there to to ROOOOOOOCK!!!!!!!!! and any friends I make along the way are just gravy. That said, I am the kind of person who makes friends quickly and easily, and although some of my bandmates may disagree, I became very fond of a number of the guys in Tub Ring, who I think were perfectly nice. Jason, their bass player, was a little quiet and standoffish at first, but once we got to talking he was charming, funny, and down-to-earth. Their drummer Dave and I broke the ice finally in Louisville Kentucky, downing beers at the bar and babbling about girls and football. Rob the keyboard player was one of the most mellow people I have ever met: when he wasn't onstage, he was completely dormant, sleeping on the sofa or the floor or wherever he could find a spot to sack out. I wasn't exactly surprised when we got into a conversation on Buddhism, Zen, and philosophy in general toward the end of the trip. Their guitar player Sean was always happy to loan me a cable when I needed it or a tuner or what-have-you. In short, there was no need for the constant backbiting and bitching I was hearing from my bandmates.
Yet there it was. In the van on the way to a gig. "Tub Ring this, Tub Ring that." Boogie tagged their cases with his name. Jamie ond Boog got into a fistfight (with each other) in Tub Ring's van, giving Donna their merchandise girl a nasty lump on her head in the melee. Who was it acting like Spider-Man and leaping on the roof of the van? Who was drinking all their beer and stealing cases of water? Who was it getting drunk and getting in the band's faces? Who was bitching that there wasn't enough room for Uncle Fucker's goods at the merchandise table? Again and again and again and again. It boggles the mind. I came home from tour with a dozen new names in my cellphone because when I go out on the road, I make friends.
What is the point of making enemies? To this day, I have no idea whether this was professional jealousy or just plain old obnoxious behavior that grew into something more malicious. My bandmates can call Tub Ring a bunch of dicks all they like, but you know, when you treat people like their dicks, they tend to be dicks right back.
So anyway, that's chapter 2.
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