Gypsyhawk: Noisecreep Tour Blog #3
Gypsyhawk are blogging for Noisecreep during this tour and today we're proud to bring you the third installment.
From Gypsyhawk guitarist Andrew Packer:
"All you need is ignorance and confidence and the success is sure." – Mark Twain
So as we discussed last class, we were having an issue with trailer lights on the way to Chicago. We had spent the night at Ron's parents house in Milwaukee to get fed and shower and struggled desperately to find one place in that city to get our shit rewired. NO ONE could do it. We had to go to Mr. Kustomz in Chicago. And let me tell you, Mr. Kustom is one cool ass muther fucker. He let us come in way later than we first said we would and he stayed open extra late just for us. He chilled with us and shot the shit and smoked weed and told us he's got a reality show coming out soon about his shop. And now the trailer is totally tip top. Anyway's, the show in Chicago was fuckin ILL. It was sold out pretty much entirely in advance and then went all the way for the touchdown. We tried to follow Ron's friend "Rod" back to his place, but he couldn't remember how to get there. He also forgot that he had drove to the show. Well, we eventually made it.
Well, The Sword fans don't give a fuck about being that guy and it's totally awesome. We have a few ourselves, but The Sword will have everyone in front of the stage going ballistic wearing shirts they purchased on previous tours. That's rad. I was close to the front of the crowd during The Sword's last song. I was rocking out hard when all of a sudden a giant Houser made his way towards me from the right knocking over every perceived civilian threat in his sight and stopped right in front of me. I grabbed him. He looked back at me like he was ready to start a fight then realized it was me. He threw his arm around my shoulder, pulled me to his side, handed me his beer, I started chugging, and everyone around us cheered and patting us on the back. Pretty cool.
Cleveland was the setting the next night, another sold out show. I discovered I really like Red Bull with fake vodka, that 42 proof kind you can only get in cave man states like Ohio. What I like about it is that you can drink a lot of it without getting too fucked up. That's beneficial when you have to play scales and crap in front of 400 people. Not that I know any scales. I had some punishers jumping on my pedal board and trying to rip off my monitor from the stage. I couldn't help but love it, though. One of them wanted to trade my tour laminate for half of her beer. Sure, why don't I get one for all of you? I was bullshitting with Bryan, J.D. and Kyle backstage and told them about this one time a few years ago I saw them at the Troubadour in L.A. and that during their last song some smoking hot chick got up on her dude's shoulders and showed her marvelous boobs to the stage. Bryan knew exactly what I was talking about and stood to give me both of his hi-fives. J.D. and Kyle both seemed still bummed that they had missed it. They should be. Great boobs. The poor girl was escorted out by security immediately after. My suggestion to everyone is to let security know before your shows that instead of escorting such giving and wonderful people out the front door that you bring them back stage instead. That's what I do now, anyway. Alas, no one's flashed us yet. Orlando, we're looking at you.
Saturday night in Covington, KY was The Night of the House That Ron Built. We got to split a room with Eagle Hawk (it's an inside joke. I'm not retarded.) and in it were two bottles of Jameson, two 12ers of High Life, and most of a bottle of Woodward's Reserve or whatever fine whiskey it is that The Sword like. I'll let you figure out the rest. The crowd was a little disappointing in terms of response, only because the previous three nights were so mercilessly slam dunked.
So far, this blog sucks today. Probably because I didn't get enough booze last night. Eagle Claw and us have been splitting up our booze for larger buy outs, which is fine, but I'm a drinker. I end up spending the buyout on bar booze which is a waste of money. Mike was just telling me he drinks two beers during his set. No wonder I don't get enough beer. But I can't drink two beers during my set. Yes, it's a half hour, but that only leaves 4 10-15 second blasts of space where I can reach for my beer and chug. I usually have to choose between drinking replenishing malts and barley, or tuning my abused and battered guitar. Usually beer wins because tuning is boring, but then I sound like shit and everyone is mad at me. But at least I'm drunker which means WINNING.
Alright, so, Detroit. Ron's home town. We got wings at this cool bar stuck somewhere between 60's Mad Men class and 90's Mobb Deep thuggery. We were watching the news to get a sense of just how colorful the Motor City is. Well, not only was there a police precinct shoot out caught on camera that day, but another cop was attacked by a man with a sword. Coincidence? This town is some cool mix of Terminator and Highlander.
You know who else is from the Detroit area? Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor. More Power. Oh, the show was cool, too.
On our way to Philly we took a day off in some arctic tundra known as Somerset, Pennsylvania. We got a "3 Star" hotel room thanks to Hotwire.com for $39. I knew there had to be some kind of mix up. I asked the lady where we could get some liquor and she sent me to a café across the street. I had some hot totti, 5 black tooth grins, a Jameson and water, and an iced chocolate whipped vodka. That pretty much did the trick for helping me sleep in a room full of farting, snoring guys and a girl who will not stop talking in her sleep. That's all I got.
Tune in next week. I'll fill you in on Philly and NYC, both utterly tremendous.