Here it is - I'll explain what I can for each one.  Thanks to John for capturing some quality images of Charlotte and Shakori - and for driving me to the airport from the festival.  He played me some live Violent Femmes and bought me Eastern North Carolina BBQ.  That ranks you a Champion in my book.  Enjoy the photos:

In which The Brothers Comatose sing and play and begin to have a glorious time in Charlotte, NC - this is from The Evening Muse.  We opened for The Whiskey Gentry - an excellent band of awesome folks from Georgia.  Speaking of Georgia...  our friend and road-buddy Georgia put us up in her driveway (you'll see how/why) and took care of us all weekend.  Thanks Georgia!

In which the Brothers Comatose journey in North Carolina and visit the home of the Avetts.  Jim and Susie fed us lunch, told us stories, let us enjoy their incredibly cozy and comfortable hospitality and front porch, and Jim toured us through his guitar collection.  He played us tunes, doled out wisdom, and offered book recommendations.  We traded CDs and then headed off to Pisgah.  Pretty awesome people.  Looking forward to running into them again.

We have a conspicuous absence in the photo journal - no photos of the Pisgah Brewery show - the gorgeous backstage with the pool table and Pacman - the newly remodeled stage, the delicious BBQ and sausages - the epic after-show jam in the RV.  Thanks Pisgah!  We love you folks.  If you'd stop being so damn fun, and if your beer wasn't so good, maybe we'd remember / have time to take a picture or two.  Sheesh.

So this next one - finally - reveals the RV.  I chose the RV reveal shot to also feature Phil and a ridiculous banjo.  This thing was silly.  Beds all over the place, tables, a fridge, a bathroom... who knew that Vans came that big?  We still love our Van, and we still respect her and only her... but it was damn fun cruising the highways and byways in a 30 foot rolling luxury hotel room.

The rest of this photo journal is all from Shakori Hills Grassroots Festival.  We had the luck to tour the West Coast with Donna the Buffalo in November.  We made friends and - as it turns out - they happen to throw one of the greatest festivals of all time out in North Carolina every year.  They invited us out to play, and it was incredible.  The hospitality, the environment - not a corporate sponsor in sight... it was like Kate Wolf and Oregon Country Fair had a laid back, groovy younger cousin out in NC. 

The photos are from our performance Saturday night on the Grove stage - one of our collectively favorite performances of all time.  The people here made us feel so freakin' good.  I couldn't wipe the smile off my face all night.  It starts with our first song - only a few brave souls to be found at this West Coast string band's first Shakori appearance... 

... and then, about 3 songs in... the sun went down, the lights came on, and the people wrapped us up in their North Carolina love.

...and thus, we proceeded to get down.

We even had an epic hype crew of festival kids that tore the stage up with us.  Where did they come from?  We don't know.  Ryan saw them, got them out on the stage, and they killed it.  So. Damn. Fun.

And then, the final night... Donna The Buffalo invited us out on the main stage to rock with them.  These people are awesome.

And then we packed up, brought back the RV and came home.  One amazing weekend.  The only thing missing from this blog post about North Carolina - and perhaps most importantly - is a record of their delicious pulled pork - to be eaten with their delicious vinegar-based sauce.  So, here you go.  Smell the hickory!  Savor the Greens!  Marvel at the tender delicacy of the Pork!!

There you have it. 

Can't wait to go back.

Thanks again North Carolina for being so awesome. 

Hey there Folks.

Gio here again.  I was first one to the airport tonight, so I have some time to devour as I wait for the 10:40 red eye to Atlanta. 

We're on our way out to North Carolina again.  We were there last May, and we're all excited to go back. What I should say ...

Ooh - had to stop the Blog post - Ben just called.  I have to go to the security gate and grab a guitar from him.  He can't get through!  This is real life on the road happening now!!  Wow!  The blogging excitement of it all!

Talk to you soon folks.

I don't know if anyone else remembers this old Denis Leary bit about coffee flavored coffee...  (I won't embed the thing, but if you're interested, click-a right-a here-a).  A disclaimer - it is straight from the year 1997.  When "www dot ____ " jokes were cutting edge. 

I only bring it up because since 1997, we have gotten fancier.  Not that I have to worry about maplenut crunch, or hazelbean sunrise, or flavors like that... at least not at the espresso slinging joints I find myself in.  I bring it up today because - like everything that starts out as a love / passion / joy... when pursued and studied and analyzed at such serious and imperial lengths... things get lost.   I'm talking about espresso, of course.

For example.

Our touring route routinely brings us up I-5.  This - happily - takes us through the heart of GreatCoffeeVille USA.  Arcata, Eugene, Portland, Seattle, Bellingham - good coffee.  I love espresso.  I will walk blocks and blocks to find the espresso shack if options close and closer are only sporting the drip.  The beef I am about to raise has to do with espresso and only espresso.  Not drip.  Drip away all ye mighty drippers!  Do your thing!  More drippy power to you!  In a hotel lobby at the crack of noon, I may even join you at your watery and drippy quaffing.  But - when I have my druthers - it will be espresso.  Why espresso?  Because I like thick, dark, roasty-roasted, rich, full-throated, volumptuous espresso, that's why. 

Enter the beef.

Recently - not only up and down our I-5 trek, but also, I'm sad to say, here at home - yay, verily, even in my little P-cow-town, our espresso is being made.... less espresso-y.  The philosophy, as I understand it (as I've had many a barista explain as they look down their noses at me), is this:  When you roast a bean (similar to roasting anything, I suppose) - you roast out the actual flavor inherent in the bean (or potato, or chicken, or bell-pepper - you get the idea.)  If you roast it for a short while, you will have maximum flavor.  If you over roast it - if you roast it until the beans are extremely dark (Italian roast, it used to be called, I believe) - it is akin (so the philosophy goes) to burning a delicate dish of roasted snapper, or fava beans.  Gone is the flavor, gone is the delicate art of the roaster, gone is the bouquet, the high notes, the tannins and the hints of blackberry...  And so the espresso that one finds at many a (you hoped) very-delicious-and-hip-and-with-it-coffee-shop is - sadly - not the espresso this bassist is looking for. 

When I order espresso, I am looking for the dynamic and complex flavors of espresso: curvy, sensual, gorgeous, velvety coffee-ness.  High notes, fruits, nuts, herbs, all that is well and good for the drip and the french press and the teas... but please oh please, coffee world, not for espresso!  These hightened flavors that one boasts of are gone if you don't drink the coffee drink in one swift shot.  By sip number two, the bottom has fallen out of the flavor, and you're left with an extremely bitter, foundationless, non-robust cup of very complexly flavored non-espresso.

So.

I wanted to take this little soap box moment to thank Lighthouse Roasters of Seattle.  They get it.  They have all kinds of coffee there - they are serious coffee folk!  They know about flavors and roasting times.  They know about complexity and seriousness of coffee afficionados.  And yet - and yet they roast their espresso with a full pair of cojones.  There is a foundation deep and pure and sonorous as Nina Simone in their espresso.  They didn't hand out a light-roasted, maximum flavored, hoity-toity cup of bitter disappointment.  Nay.  They offered this bass player the best cup of coffee he has had on tour to date. 

Thanks Lighthouse Roasters.  Please send your roasting team out to the roasteries and espresso bars of the world to spread your good news!  To share your secret lore!  To embrace the world in a warm, dark, cozy womb of flavor and substance that is - in some places - in danger of disappearing all together!

Hi ho folks!

It's been a good long while since I've been at the 'ol Blogging Post - but tonight's events warranted - nay - demanded a faithful bloggy report.

So - to begin, a bit of back story.  I've been trying oh-so-hard to eat healthy.  When this tour rolled around, I headed myself down to Trader Joe's and bought a bunch of oatmeal, apples, oranges and trail mix for the journey.

Enter today:

I wake up in Arcata at Jared's Palace of Comics and Donuts, (after an absolutely kick-ass show at Humbrews) and there is a glorious pot of coffee and a box of donuts waiting for us wayward band folk.  But I resist.  I go to the van, get my oatmeal, and make up my breakfast in a bowl.  Mmmm.  healthy.  I have a few cups of coffee, some water, and we take to the van.  Destination:  Eugene.

We drive drive drive - there's a lunch stop at a Safeway in Crescent City.  I save a few bucks, have an apple, have an orange, munch some trail mix, drink my water, and I'm good to go.

We drive drive drive some more, and we get to Eugene.  I have another cup of coffee, some more water, and order the lentil soup and beet salad for dinner.  I eat it.

Then we play some music.

Eugene (emphasis: EUgene) is sweet to us, and we have ourselves a good time... except for Gio who is experiencing some serious abdominal pain on stage.  Cramping like I've only heard about.  It continues all through the set, makes singing a bit rough, and is becoming worrisome.  When we finish, I try and skedaddle to the van as quick as can be to just wait out this ever-growing pain in my belly! 

I get to the van, and just kind of moan and roll around for about 25 minutes.  It just keeps getting worse.  I'm looking up "abdominal pain" on my phone, trying the left side, the right side...  it all hurts.  Then I start to get all tingly down my arms, sweaty, light headed...  Then I'm having weird dreams, I come to, and it takes me a while to figure out where the hell I am.  My stomach hurts!

I call in the rest of the band, and I have them take me to the hospital.  I'm pretty worried at this point.  I can't really move, everything hurts, and I'm worried I'm going to black out again.  The noble Brothers Comatose wing me to the ER.  I shakily fill out paperwork, recite birthdays, etc...  and then I wait for them to see me.

And...

By the time I'm actually in the ER room, with the little ER gown on...  I feel pretty good.  My stomach doesn't hurt anymore.  At all, really.  Not even when the doctor starts pushing around on it.  Thank God, say I... and yet...  Feels pretty silly to just sit in a ER when you feel fine, right?

The doctor tells me that I probably just had indigestion, or some gas pains, and that I passed out as a reaction / instinct to the pain. 

So, here we are, safe and sound in the hotel room... but one ER visit later.  And while I'm stoked that I feel better, and stoked to have a diagnosis of "all clear," it is still a bit unsettling to not have anything solid to point to for an evening of the most uncomfortable singing / playing / passing out in a van that I've ever experienced. 

So, here we go - onward and forward.  I'll be eating more rice and gruel, more water less coffee, and praying for easy nights from here on out. 

Thanks to the Gramblers and the sweet fans of Eugene for the concern, the support and the well wishes!  Seems that all is right and good here.  Back to the road and the shows!