Martian Dance Invasion!: ifihadahifi

On Thursday Milwaukee Record ran my feature article on Latest Flame Records closing up shop after nearly 13 years of kickass releases. It was really difficult to write that piece without injecting lots of personal asides and, admittedly, sour grapes and snarky butthurt feelings about Dan's decision to close up shop, which is why i'm hopping over here to do that, naturally. Make no mistake--i fully support Dan's decision to stop setting his personal income on fire in order to allow his favorite bands to have something to sell at shows. But the day i got the email from Mr. Hanke breaking the news, i felt like a family member had died.

To me, Latest Flame Records and the bands that recorded for it during its noisy second act were family. Having become aware of punk rock and independent record labels beginning with a mind-expanding summer between my senior year of high school and the onset of college in the early 90s, i was immediately drawn to the romantic notion of record label as symbol of quality and community. If i bought a Touch & Go Records release in the 1990s, i had a pretty good idea of what it sounded like before breaking the shrinkwrap--it was going to be loud, it was going to be abrasive, and it wasn't going to sound exactly like anything else available. And i was probably going to love it. Just as importantly, i had a pretty good notion that each of those bands were likely to play shows together, tour together, hang out together. Eli Janney of Girls Against Boys recorded Brainiac's Hissing Prigs in Static Couture. Blond Redhead opened for Shellac at the Congress Theatre. And so on. It quickly became a dream of mine to be a part of something like that. Dan shared that dream and made it happen with a stacked roster of aggressive and off-the-beaten-path-yet-completely-accessible-if-you-give-it-a-chance rock tunes from the likes of Police Teeth, Waxeater, Trophy Wives, Nervous Curtains, his Like Like The The The Death, and my own IfIHadAHiFi and Body Futures.

Music, like any art, is deeply personal and subjective, of course, and that the Latest Flame roster never exactly set the world on fire is by no means an indictment of its quality....of course. It's the same story that scores of labels that have come and gone have endured over the years. But when you're sinking the amount of money that it takes to release a record or a CD into something in which you believe, it's hard to not be frustrated when those efforts aren't validated by the outside world. We are only human beings, after all, and human beings are inherently social creatures seeking outside validation. But make no mistake: almost every time i get on stage with Body Futures or IfIHadAHiFi, and every time i throw on one of our records, i feel completely validated in that we've produced music that i would want to listen to and would be stoked about even if i wasn't in the band, and that's all anyone can realistically hope for. As my friend John Dykstra has often said to me, we should all be thankful for living in a time where we are able to make music and press records with our pals in the first place; should anyone else actually enjoy it, that's a bonus.

Still, being able to cover costs would have been a nice bonus.

In the spirit of celebrating the diverse Latest Flame catalog, here are ten Latest Flame releases that everyone should hear. Dan was kind enough to document it, so dammit, it should be heard. This stuff is all over the map, from new-wavy power-pop to wiry post-punk to brutal riffage, and it all deserves to be remembered. I hope you take some time to check them out if you don't know about them already. And thanks, Dan, for helping all of us live that dream of being part of a musical family with a sense of real community and belonging, just like those indie labels of lore. What a gift.

In more-or-less chronological order:

True Confessions from DJ's Brain Dept.: Today I spent some time hanging out on United Record Pressing's 10" vinyl quote generator, out of a bit of masochistic curiosity. See, part of me is a little bummed that my band's most recent collection of songs, a digital-only EP that includes what i consider to be some of our best material to date, isn't going to get a physical release, because we are poor working-class schmucks who have to work day jobs and don't have moneyed parents to bankroll our foolish rock 'n' roll fantasies (which, really, for a bunch of dudes in our 30s would be more flat-out embarrassing than it is for 20-somethings). So out of curiosity, i ran the numbers:

10" Records (300): $270
Music Source (Sending a CD): $330
Plating (Standard Two-Step Plating): $225
How many (if any) do you want colored? (Eh, 300, why not?)
Which color other than black (translucent green would be pretty sweet): $120
Setup Charge: $80
Test Pressing: $95
Labels (eh, let's be frugal here--one color ink on one color paper): $110
Inner Sleeves (plain white paper dust sleeves): $0 (yay!)
Jackets (Standard Single Pocket CMYK Custom Jacket): $895 (printing costs, man, i tells ya)
Are we inserting your records into jackets? (Yes, because we're lazy and it's only an extra) $18
Offer free Downloads (We use Bandcamp, so no): $0
Are we putting download cards into jackets? (Yes, because we're using Bandcamp) $18
Shrink Wrap (Yes, because we're not savages): $36
Generic download sticker on shrink wrap? (Nah) $0
Estimated Total (excluding shipping): $2197

And man, let's not even think about the G.D. shipping.

Here's where we get to the shameful confession: looking at that figure, and thinking about the recently successful Kickstarter campaign by Zebras, that band i'm still sort of in kind of, that raised $2500 to get the new record pressed, it briefly occurred to me that maybe that wouldn't be a difficult record for us to fund...through Kickstarter! The service that i have previously questioned and criticized in this very blog! As everyone knows, once you share an opinion on the internet, that's your opinion forever, and it's set in stone, and you aren't allowed to change your mind without dozens of commenters calling you out for being a dirty hypocrite ass-bastard. So obviously we won't be doing that.

Besides, why would we want to run the risk of incurring the wrath of Michael Mann of straight.com, Vancouver's Online Source (which, wtf kind of name is that for a website? What's their sister site, caucasianmales.net)?

I'm assuming this isn't the Michael Mann that writes for straight.com, but i needed some sort of image for this post, dammit

Stop trying to get me to fund your fucking album with a Kickstarter campaign. Same goes for getting your merch produced, your motel rooms paid for, and your bar tab settled. It makes you and your bandmates come across as a bunch of shameless and entitled pricks. You don’t see me aggressively asking people to pony up for my summer-long, cross-country cocaine and drunken slut–boning binge. So why is it okay when musicians do this?

Oh, hey! One of those blatantly provocative internet comment-magnet share-bait columns that plays the asshole in order to make a point--one i more or less agree with! This could be fun!

Instead of panhandling online, here’s a novel idea: crowdsource a little business acumen and produce something people actually want to give you money for. At least the homeless guy on the corner has the decency to make a funny sign and do 50 one-armed pushups if I toss him a few shekels. What are you offering, some MP3s and a shout-out on Twitter? Christ, if your album’s any good I’ll be able to cop it for free off the Pirate Bay.

Oh, jeez, so this guy's making his point by casting himself as contrarian as possible and casting himself as a cheap-ass downloading prick who doesn't support bands. OK, i'm sure dude's just playing a role here, but that's fairly Part of the Problem of him, no?

You want a handout? Release some halfway decent music you recorded in your apartment and give it away for free. I’ll come check you out and pay the $10 cover. (I’m speaking as a metaphorical everyman here. I don’t actually pay cover, ever.)

Ooooo-kay. Now dude's just trollin'.

As anyone who's been paying attention to me (read: nobody) knows, i'm not a big fan of the whole Kickstarter thing. I don't hate it, per se--after all, it's a tool, like any other, and like a hammer, it can be used to build something cool or to give everyone around you a headache. I guess what i'm really not a fan of is the removal of risk from creativity. Frankly, if my band's going to go on tour, we should be mentally prepared to lose our asses, money-wise. Why? Because if you love doing something, you should be willing to risk valuable things to make that something happen. Because if a bunch of "patrons" pay for our tour before we've driven a mile or played a note, we have no incentive to actually promote and try to get people out to the shows. This is DIY punk rock, not a vanity project.

I really want to get behind this dude's desire to own Facebook feeds across North America for an entire Thursday, because that Paper Lions band looks like douchebaggery at its most invasive and vinegar-fueled. (Seriously, i haven't heard a note, but those sweaters and pennants make them look like Vampire Weekend without the ethnic credibility.) But when he drops turds like "if your record's good, I'll just download it off Piratebay" or "I never pay cover," he's just coming off as an asshole for the sake of being an asshole. Dude, that attitude is exactly why so many musicians are tempted to pre-fund and crowdsource everything they do--because they know there are cheapskate asshats out there who don't think even good music is worth their money. Who's the "entitled prick" now? Is it really "panhandling" when you're just trying to find a way to make thieves pay a fair price for your product?

Hey, i get that this dude is likely just role-playing in print, but i didn't get this far in life without learning that role-playing is for desperate couples with atrophying sexual prowess and nerds that never had any. So, ok, let's have our fun publicly shaming Kickstarter's abusers (because holy crap, is it ever fun), but howsabout we start valuing physical music again and make the abuse less tempting? (And yes, part of the music/music consumer contract involves us musicians making music that is good enough to warrant value, but if you think good music is given a dollar value these days, i'll eat my next paycheck. [Ha! Joke's on you, jackass-it's direct deposit!])

I'll be honest--the idea of trying a campaign to see if we could get a Sexy Results physical release funded is awfully tempting. But at the end of the day, i'd rather we sell home-dubbed cassette tapes in plastic bags with download codes (which we totally did) and not annoy the piss out of everyone for a month while begging for money. Frankly, we annoy the piss out of everyone just enough as it is.

Whenever i get a message from an out-of-town musician friend looking for help getting a Milwaukee show on a Monday or Tuesday, i break out into hives, my teeth itch and i feel a dull ache and nausea not unlike 30 seconds after a solid punch in the nuts. I've spent enough Monday and Tuesday nights apologizing for our town's generally weak showings on those nights (not that it's anyone's fault, as day jobs are, in the common parlance, a bitch) to finally be fed up with the whole endeavor. It's the same on the other side of the fence as well; if i'm booking a tour and we're not heading somewhere with solid Monday night potential (see: the old Uncle Festers' Punk Rock Nights in Bloomington, IN; New Brunswick, NJ basement shows), my instinct now is to say "screw it" and schedule a day off of chilling out in a hotel watching wrestling.

I hoped that when my friend James' band Male Bondage stopped by Quarters Rock 'n' Roll Palace on Tuesday night while on tour from Indianapolis, there would at least be fifteen or twenty stragglers wandering in to see them sandwiched between Absolutely and Lord Brain. Instead, Male Bondage completely threw down their top-volume combination of overpowering post-hardcore Jehu drive and pseudo-psych Meat Puppets licks in front of a jazzed and packed room...on a Tuesday night. What in the samhell?

Dear Milwaukee: something is brewing at Quarters, and it is exciting. Aaron Skufca's busted his damn fool hump making the humble dive on the corner of Center and Bremen a nearly sure bet for a night of drinking and punk rock, and if stuffing 40-50 people into the Rock 'n' Roll Palace's itty bitty bar on a Tuesday night is any indication, it's working. (Sure, it doesn't hurt that Absolutely is a killer band and can probably draw 50 people by themselves on a good night, but since when does heady Unwound-inspired noise consider a Tuesday a good night?)

So what's working in Quarters' favor? This is all speculation, but it feels like a perfect storm of positives:

1) It's small, but not Circle A small. Get 20 people through the door at Quarters, and it feels like a party inside already, unlike larger mid-sized venues like Stonefly and Mad Planet, where 20 people feels like a bummer. Combine this with the large bay windows in the front of the bar, and the odd stray is likely to glance in through the window, see something interesting's happening, and wander in. And that's likely to happen a lot, because of

2) Location, Location, Location. The second most important group of three words in Real Estate (behind "Indian Burial Ground"), Quarters is smack dab in the middle of Riverwest foot traffic, surrounded on all sides by Foundations and Fuels and That Hookah Bar I Still Have Never Wandered Into. Ever since Quarters re-opened after that whole unfortunate "dude getting shot outside" thing, it's seemed to evolve into a place where everyone within a four-block radius between the ages of 21 and let'ssay40becausei'mold is likely to gravitate if they want a beer after work. And if there happens to be a band playing, what the hell? May as well check it out, because

3) The shows are cheap. Because Quarters doesn't take anything out of the door for sound (which, by the way, is pretty darn good for a tiny room), it's easy to get touring bands good money while keeping the door low, which encourages people to wander in and give new bands a try. Heck, just last night my friend Zach wandering in to the Absolutely/Male Bondage/Lord Brain show because he had nothing else going on and what's five bucks for some live tunes? IfIHadAHiFi played there on Friday with Police Teeth, Strange Matter and Like Like The The The Death, and thanks to the karmic "local bands don't take any money when touring bands are playing" rule, Police Teeth managed to pocket $244 from a door that got sassy and bumped it up to $6 since it was a Friday. Are you as old as i am, and remember when $6 was seen as outrageous for a punk show? Yeah, that was 1990 dollars, gang. A movie is ten bucks these days! Seeing a show at Quarters is cheaper than going to see Wrath of the Titans, and the loud noises are less obnoxious!

Sometimes a venue manages to exist in a perfect storm of circumstance and smart planning. Sure, none of it's rocket science, but not every bar can pull it off. Quarters, having re-opened in a neighborhood that has some musical open-mindedness with a plan that focuses on cheap fun while keeping the needs of touring bands in the forefront, seems to be onto something. It's a little early to proclaim it the Savior of the Scene or anything like that, but man, am i jazzed it exists right now.

By the way, i'm totally not kidding about Male Bondage. Get on this. (Upon listening to the recordings, they have way more of a Double Dagger thing going than what i picked out live. Volume!)

One thing i've always been honest about as i spend my time playing so-called "challenging" "noise rock" music is that, bold self-involved "artistic" statements aside, i'm a junkie for validation. I take part in playing live, recording and releasing records, and filming videos in part because i'm desperate for attention and want to be noticed. I'm not embarrassed about this at all--rather, i take pride in the fact that i'm honest about it. Look--human beings are communal by nature (despite your typical libertarian's protests to the contrary). Part of the act of creating art is its exhibition, and while writing a song, painting a picture, or writing a story is a reward in and of itself, there's not a human alive who doesn't enjoy hearing someone say "holy shit, that thing you did kicked ass." And yes, that includes those of us with a contrarian streak who bounce with glee when someone's reaction involves strong dislike. Love or hate, a reaction is validation--that someone is paying attention to you, and anyone who releases their work into the ether for the public to do with as they will wants to, at the very least, be acknowledged for existing if nothing else. Sure, some bands are more concerned with mass acceptance than others, but even the most abrasive, difficult, avant-garde no-waver wants someone to like them.

It's with this in mind that i completely relate to a recent blog post by Chloe Lum, lead singer of AIDS Wolf, exploring the mixed feelings she's experiencing upon the band's decision to break up. The post, "On the End of an Era," is worth a read--it's an honest outpouring of frustration that results from realizing that the musical landscape has changed from the heady days of the band's inception in 2003.

In the early part of the 2000′s there was a swell of noise-rock , noise and no wave influenced bands doing it seriously , some of them managing to find actual audiences.

[snip]

In ’09 we stepped back after our guitarist Myles moved to the UK to woodshed as a trio with Alex. New rig , new songs and an goal towards greater abstraction. Alex Ross’s The Rest is Noise had been passed around in the van and as a trio, going towards more a formal and disjointed sound seemed a natural progression.

So we stayed in the jam room for a year and wrote songs complicated enough that the only way to learn them was drilling them over and over for hours. My own lyrics got more abstract as I’d use made up words , vocal imitations of Alex’s electronics and plenty of stream of consciousness & cut up. During this time we wrote and rehearsed the material for Ma vie banale avant-garde.

Then , exactly a year letter we took in on the road and to Dub Narcotic studio in Olympia to record. It was to see that the setting had radically changed in the year we were woodsheding. For one , many of our peer bands had either disbanded , or stopped/seriously slowed down on touring. “I’m in debt and can’t afford the time off work anymore” they’d tell us , or “I want to start a family / go to grad school / get an adult job”. “I can’t face another empty room , it’s futile , pointless , ridiculous , demoralizing”. Same story everywhere and no surprise , we were getting older and so were our friends and what’s marginal at 20-something becomes much more so at 30-something or 40-something. But beyond many of our cohort moving on, there where significant changes in what was deemed “underground” , what could get booked where and under what circumstances. It seemed that as a bunch of 30 somethings in an extended van full of big amps and a loud as hell P.A. had become an anachronism.

All of the sudden bands doing ads for soft drink companies or department stores were considered “underground”. So where did this leave the actual underground, the one that couldn’t sell cars/soda/computers even if if wanted to? Because it was weird/ugly/dangerous/challenging? It left it in a cave.

Anyone who's read anything i've written about the state of indie rock in recent years can imagine that hearing these words out of a like-minded artist whom i've never met is, well, validating in a lot of ways. Like Chloe, i've seen overall interest in loud, noisy, weird, adventurous music wane over the past decade in favor of stuff that used to be filed in the Adult Contemporary bins. Likewise, in our 12 years of activity, my band has seen plenty of like-minded ensembles come and go. In the first five years of our existence, we considered bands like The Sump Pumps, Replicator, Viva La Foxx, Sounds Like Braille, and The New Blind Nationals allies in our own little struggle for community, relevance, and noise; today, they're all gone (it didn't escape me that the AIDS Wolf run started three years after our own, and as they call it quits, we're still truckin').

But mostly, what resonated with me is Chloe's assertion that noise is more and more getting "left in a cave." I've been saying similar things for years now and frankly, it's nice to hear that sentiment echoed by someone i've never met or seen play. It's a bummer, though, to hear that she's not sure whether or not she's done making music altogether. To hear her say "I’m not sure yet if this is the end of me making music or just the beginning of a long break" sounds to my ears like someone who is considering throwing up her hands and conceding defeat, and i really hope that doesn't end up being the case--not that i could blame her. Yes, playing noisy music in a world that largely is indifferent to anything not easily digestible or pigeonholed is very frustrating. It's a money pit with very little return, and year after year it becomes harder to find like-minded people to connect with, be they fans or fellow musicians. It's something that bands that play alt-country or pop-punk really will never understand. One of the HiFi's oldest pals, Nato Coles, formerly of the Modern Machines and now of Nato Coles and the Blue Diamond Band, once compared his Replacements-y singer/songwriter-ish vibe with our "challenging, quasi-arty edge" (his words) and said to us, "playing the kind of music you do would be exceedingly frustrating, and I'm not sure I could do it if I tried." Yes, if we're gonna play abrasive, blow-you-out-the-room maximum-volume noise rock, we shouldn't be surprised if the people who want easy listening flee to the bar. Some musicians are lucky in that their muse leads them toward a brand of songcraft that matches up with the zeitgeist and leads to lots of that sweet, sweet validation from others. Those of us playing noise-related music do not match up with the zeitgeist of 2012.

These are all things, though, that are beyond our control as artists. We have no control over what people like, what blogs decide to write about (even if we have money to spend on "servicing" publications with our records). The problem with looking outside ourselves for validation, while a fundamental piece of human nature, is that it's completely out of our hands, and to hope to drag others kicking and screaming into our way of thinking is to descend into insanity.

So when it comes to validation, what do we have control over? The validation of self, of course. Being able to find the same excitement in getting the fifth record back from the pressing plant that was there with the first. To quote Justin Vernon's grammy speech, writing songs for the inherent reward of writing songs. Reading Chloe's blog, it sounds like AIDS Wolf were still excited about the music they were making, and to me, that sounds like a perfectly acceptable reason for continuing on. But if the lack of return on investment from the outside world finally beat them down, i can't say i blame them, because i've spent many a night banging my head against that wall as well.

Every year i re-evaluate why the hell i'm still in IfIHadAHiFi. The records are expensive, the gas to get to the shows even more so. Booking tours, trying to coordinate four people's schedules, going to the DMV to renew the van's registration, flyering for shows, pleading with friends to come check out our friends' touring bands only to have all of them go bowling that night instead...it's all a pain in the ass, and focusing on it all makes me want to throw my hands up too. But then we manage to finish the music for a song that's been vexing us for the past year and a half and realize that it doesn't sound anything like any song we've written before, and suddenly i'm supercharged again. I am rock and roll's captive, and there's no cure for Stockholm Syndrome when it comes to rock and roll.

I really do hope that all the members of AIDS Wolf keep making music, and i hope that if they do, it's because they love it, not because the pendulum magically swung back toward mass interest in indie rock that actually has some gonads to it. Trends are fleeting; art is forever. Hell, even now all is not lost. All those bands we used to run with? The Replicator guys are Victory & Associates and Cartographer now; last i checked, Amy from Viva La Foxx is still kickin' it in Soapland. Hell, we assimilated one of the New Blind Nationals into our lineup. And at the end of June, a couple hundred like-minded fans of loud, noisy ass-kicking, occasionally challenging rock 'n' roll will convene in Chicago for the 4th annual PRFBBQ. There's plenty of validation out there if you know where to find it. Sure, it's not gonna help any of us break even on our records, but it's something.

You had the Alliance on you... criminals and savages... half the people on the ship have been shot or wounded, including yourself... and you're harboring known fugitives.

We're still flying.

That's not much.

It's enough.

On February 18, 2012, my band IfIHadAHiFi will be participating in a variety show called Sexy Results: Cedar Block's Dig for the Higgs and How the Quest Was Won at Turner Hall. The show is part of Alverno College's Alverno Presents series and is being produced by Mr. Cedar Block himself, Brent Gohde. If you're a Milwaukeean, you may recognize the Cedar Block name as the group that brought you a series of "weird science fairs" and a few rad art exhibits at the Milwaukee Art Museum during which local artists produced work inspired by a prominent MAM exhibit.

Sexy Results is a quest to assist the search for the elusive Higgs Boson by using art in lieu of the particle accelerators we Milwaukee artist types obviously can't afford. Since art, music and fiction have predicted several scientific advancements in the past (GPS, cell phones, speculation of life on Europa)--why not use it to help discover the particle (called "the God Particle" thanks to a book by that name written by Nobel Prize-winning physicist Leon Lederman) that assigns mass to other subatomic objects?

IfIHadAHiFi's role in this project is to write and perform a batch of songs in which, not unlike how we endeavor to make noisy music palatable to pop music lovers, we attempt to make particle physics more appealing to those who have no idea what the science is all about. We're currently working on a block of six songs that we'll be recording in January and performing selections from during the show in February. Several other artists are working on stuff as well, but instead of giving too much away, suffice to say that it'll be loads of multimedia silliness and fun. Science!

To inspire the myriad folks working on the project, Brent managed to arrange a trip to Batavia, Illinois' Fermilab, the home of the Tevatron, the recently-deactivated particle accelerator (or "atom smasher") that discovered the top quark and was working on the Higgs before its defunding. Eleven of us (including musicians Nick Sanborn and Lia Manley-DeRuiter, Alverno Presents director David Ravel, all-around geek Joe Kirschling, and the High Frequency Media guys) were given the regular public tour, but thanks to Brent contacting one of Fermilab's scientists before our arrival, we got a bit more than the usual tours.

Upon approach, Fermilab, in rural Batavia, begins to loom over the horizon like it's the Minas Tirith of science. The elegant Robert Wilson Hall towers over the middle of nowhere. Having wanted to visit this place for a few years, my pulse quickened as soon as i spied it in the distance, as once we were parked, we had to spend a minute to take it in up close.

We were greeted inside by a kindly former teacher, Michelle, who acted as our tour guide, and Kurt, one of the Fermilab scientists who has spent time working on the Higgs. He let us know that everything was still on schedule; we'd take the standard tour, eat lunch with some of the physicists who have worked on the Higgs, and then the coup de grace--we'd get to see part of the Tevatron itself. Uh, woah. Brent and i especially began buzzing like excited fanboys when we discovered that one of the scientists we'd be having lunch with was none other than Ben Kilminster, the Simpsons fanatic/musician scientist who is featured on the front end of The Atom Smashers, the PBS documentary about Fermilab and its adventures in the subatomic microverse. (He's also spotted in the documentary with his band playing a ska song in which all the lyrics are Linux code. This guy rules.)

The public tour was very cool and informative--Michelle filled us in with lots of history about the center and quizzed us on our knowledge of chemistry and physics, doing her best to explain a baffling field of study, including the Standard Model of particle physics, in common terms. Brent was as terribly adorable as a kid who was having his favorite bedtime story read to him, constantly asking our guide if she was going to tell us about x or y that he was told about the last time he took the tour. She was so impressed with Brent's knowledge of the subject matter and the tour that she hilariously asked him how long ago he worked at Fermilab.

This is an aerial view of the Hall's main entrance from the 15th floor.

A replica of the Tevatron's accelerator tubes was bookended by mirrors in order to achieve the proper effect.

This i just thought was funny.

The cafeteria provided some decent lunch options (i had a pretty good steak sandwich), but our scientists--the aforementioned Kurt and Ben, plus a young dude named Aron who is (if i recall correctly) part of the team analyzing data from the Large Hadron Collider at CERN near Geneva, Switzerland, and showed us the control room where the Fermilab scientists communicate with the LHC crew--were quick to point out that the food at CERN is way better because they serve wine. Pssh. Europe. Kurt asked us to tell them more about Sexy Results, and Brent obliged. I feel like he may have felt the same as i did after the already-impressive tour: here we were among some of the most brilliant minds in the world, people who have been studying particles and actually looking for the thing that enables the Universe to have mass and definition, and here we are gearing up for a doofy art project where we're going to try to "find the Higgs" via art when we have about as much knowledge about this stuff as a second grader learning cursive has about Shakespeare. But as he described the project, the big brains responded positively and with enthusiasm (when Brent explained that "sexy results" is a Simpsons reference, you could see Ben's wheels start to turn as he tried to pinpoint the episode in his head). All in all, they were excited to see artists eager to promote particle physics, especially when those artists have a healthy nerdy streak as well (Ben also lit up when Brent mentioned The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and how the Higgs relates to the answer--and question--of Life, the Universe, and Everything).

After lunch, it was time for the main event. We were led to another building and down some stairs to an underground chamber where, upon entering, my heart skipped a beat as i thought i saw the CDF (the Collision Detector at Fermilab - the actual instruments that measure the reactions as protons and antiprotons collide in the Tevatron) out of the corner of my eye. However, it was merely a matte photograph on a tapestry showing where the CDF gets rolled to when it needs to be worked on. It was a false alarm that made up for itself mere minutes later as we went down another flight of stairs, walked around a corner, and all sharply inhaled as we suddenly were in the same room as the three-story measuring tool that first observed the top quark in 1992. Thanks to former Fermilab director Leon Lederman's assertion in The God Particle that particle accelerators are the modern-day version of Stonehenge--an ancient structure built in an effort to greater understand the universe--i felt like i had just arrived at the Pyramids or Stonehenge itself, like i had just arrived at a modern wonder of the world, a place made mystical through man's attempt to understand his Universe through science. Look, it was pretty fucking awesome.

We were told that, when compared to the much larger, 25-meter high ATLAS collision detector at the LHC, the three-story CDF is very "cute" looking. Also, compared to a Tyrannosaur, i guess a Velociraptor looks like a cute cuddly kitty.

The CDF, now deactivated and defunded, is on its way to becoming a museum exhibit, Battlestar Galactica-style. While we were in the CDF room, we were informed that we were the first public tour to see it in person since its deactivation. Michelle, our tour guide, remarked that in ten years of giving Fermilab tours, this was the first time she had ever seen it in person. Chills, y'all.

I'm not sure i can adequately express my gratitude to the Fermilab staff for letting our gang behind the curtain. I feel extraordinarily privileged to have been this close to a piece of American scientific history, and i left Fermilab completely energized and anxious to pour as much energy into these songs as possible. It may not be the amount of energy that the Tevatron was able to generate, but as Brent has been saying...with us, it's about the angle of the collision more than the velocity.

Of course, it hasn't resulted yet in a huge output of lyrical content, but i'm working on it. Trying to write multiple songs about particle physics is very difficult when you don't want the lyrics to come out sounding as hokey as the Barenaked Ladies' Big Bang Theory theme song. Speaking of that show, by the way, many of its comedic stereotypes about supernerds and huge brains were proven wildly off base by the Fermilab scientists--not only did they all display perfectly normal social skills, but all three of them sported wedding rings. Particle physicists get crazy mad laid, y'all.

If you're a friend of mine you know the scoop with the delay behind IfIHadAHiFi's Nada Surf EP, an issue that's finally going to be resolved in the next week when "Somebody Take the Damn Money" gets remixed to replace Harley Race's voice with that of our new buddy, world-traveling indie wrestler "M-Dogg" Matt Cross. Latest Flame has pushed the "official" release date of the disc back to January (along with a 2012 schedule that is shaping up to be balls-awesome), but here's the thing with that--the manufacturing issue with the Harley Race sample came up so late in the game that CD versions of the EP were already out to the press before this happened. As a result, it's possible to find the record floating around out there (my friend Brian, in fact, just informed me that you can listen to it on Spotify, so hey, how about that! I guess we'll find out how much this cuts into what were sure to be bananas record sales).

This also means that reviews of the disc are showing up, which, unfortunately, are now regrettably timed way ahead of schedule (which, i suppose we could be waiting to post the reviews on our pages until release time, but whatever). So far, the reviews have generally stayed true to the form of our last albums' worth of reviews: in short, people who "get it" like it (like Playground Misnomer or PopMatters), people who have no frame of reference for what we're doing don't.

I know how pretentious that sounds--"ooh, if someone doesn't like our record, they just don't get it, is all." Here's the thing--i really don't think our brand of pop-flavored noise rock is that difficult to comprehend. I mean, when compared to some of the more abrasive, esoteric, or just plain weird stuff in my collection, IfIHadAHiFi sounds, to my objective ears, pretty simplistic. Bands like Ho-Ag, Melt-Banana, and HEALTH are doing variations of what we've been trying to do for years, and all of them are doing it way better. So in a way, i'm often surprised when people outside our insular bubble of weirdo spazz-rock can't find anything in our songs to latch onto.

Which leads me to this review of Nada Surf over on Rockfreaks.net. It's overwhelmingly negative, which is fine--not the first time that's happened. But portions of the review, a cursory check into the dude's general music tastes, and the fact that he ended up reviewing us twice (because he thought he was going to be reviewing a Nada Surf record, ha) made me realize a few things about us, or more accurately, remind me about some things i already knew and had apparently forgotten through some sort of slowly narrowing perspective.

Hilariously, the dude provides a great pull-quote when taken out of context:

Forget how the word 'punk' is mostly used these days. You'll find no buzzy yet warm guitar melodies here, nor any raw yet sentimental vocals or nostalgic songs about hometowns, best friends, ex-girlfriends etc. What you'll get is a truck load of noisy feedback, distortion and discord, crashing drums and tuneless yelling, delivered with no hint of relent or compromise whatsoever.

It also provided a peek into what the dude primarily listens to, and sure enough, when checking out his profile page on the site, his "favorite bands" list includes low-rent mallpunk fare like Fall Out Boy and Jimmy Eat World. As i skimmed through the rest of the writer profiles, i started to realize that it was fairly unlikely that anyone on the site, except for maybe the editor-in-chief (who posted in the comments to both of our reviews on the site saying that he liked the music just fine, even going so far as to essentially tell the writer that, yes, he probably just doesn't "get it"), was going to find any common ground with us at all. It led to an interesting string of comments on the review in which a number of our influences were thrown at the reviewer and he confessed to zero percent knowledge of 100% of the bands listed. The thread was spurred by Chris from Police Teeth and myself, which, yes, i know that commenting on your own band's reviews is pretty sad pool, but i was honestly drawn to post more through the exasperated disbelief that this kid had never even heard Archers of Loaf or The Jesus Lizard, much less Brainiac or Poster Children, and the hope that maybe he'd check out those bands and find something he liked.

When co-workers ask me what kind of band i play in, i generally tell them "noisy punk rock," and leave it at that, knowing and being ok with the fact that those words probably mean a wildly different sound in their heads than what's encoded on our CDs. What this whole exchange with Rockfreaks.net reminded me of (and depressed me to remember) is that even in the subculture of independent bands and internet music publications, the stuff that we fell in love with in our teens and 20s and are emulating now is, in many corners of the internet, becoming completely forgotten. And while it's freeing to know that, since large slices of the population won't ever like what we're doing, we can just not worry about it and do what we will to our heart's content (which also means, of course, that we're never making any money from this stuff), it's kind of a shame to know that even so-called music reviewers could go their entire lives without hearing a Brainiac song. I know that real hipsters are supposed to treat their favorite bands like secrets to protect, hoard, and lament when they become popular, but that's just not me.

Since i was such a grumpy gus on Wednesday, let's focus on something overwhelmingly positive and good.

In less than an hour i'll be leaving my house to pick up the other HiFi dudes and head to this season's three-times-per-year PRF BBQ, the Auktoberfyst version, at Klas German Restaurant in Cicero. PRF stands for "Premier Rock Forum," a sarcastic nickname bestowed upon the Electrical Audio message board. Yes, it's an internet forum full of nerdy, loud-rock-listening goofballs. But if you dismiss the community that has sprung up around the PRF as a group of "Steve Albini acolytes," just because the forum happens to be hosted by the Shellac guitarist's studio, well, you'd be as guilty of dismissing and underestimating what's happening here as most of the Chicago music press.

"Albini-worshiping," eh? Sure, one of the forum's most beloved moderators isn't even a Shellac fan, but if it's easier to use blanket judgment and dismiss a music scene that's rejecting the majority of what the music media sees fit to cover, instead of taking a careful, thought-out, and well-researched look at what we're accomplishing, hey, that's cool too. As my friend Bradley said on the forum after seeing that Time Out Chicago listing:

Not that I give a shit, but whoever wrote this little bit of Dead Medium fluff knew just enough to be snarky about: (i) the PRF "name", which is simply funny, ironic, and self-deprecating; and (ii) "Albini-worshipping", which is just a superdumb thing to say given how obvious it is that Steve is on the ground with the rest of the troops.

Hooray, writer!

You worked in "rawk", too, even though that doesn't begin to describe the Thursday show. Like, not in the least. You, TOC writer, apparently didn't do a second of research, like not even one hit on a band hyperlink. So lazy, this way to write about music!

Please, world. Leave us the fuck alone.

We do not speak your language. We do not use your tools. We do not aspire to your goals.

Please.

Alone.

The only shit that I give is to hope that the world does not give enough of a shit about us to give a shit.

Me, i'd be ok not being left alone if people bothered to actually pay attention instead of looking at our events and thinking, "oh, yeah, it's just a bunch of dudes playing Jesus Lizard ripoff music because they all worship Albini." Yeah, sure. That's why The Blind Shake and Big'n have kicked our asses at past events, and why Call Me Lightning will be hanging out and melting faces tomorrow.

As i type this, friends of mine from the United Kingdom are convening on Klas for another night of killer rock music. Our tour in August was booked at least 66% by people we have met on the EA Forum. There's a word for a music scene that's so close-knit that friends merely need to shoot friends a date and a city, and a show is booked, or that inspires people to travel insane distances to hang out and enjoy great food, great music, and great people. That word is community.

And yeah, i said music scene, and i meant it. The PRF is a music scene as vital and powerful, and way more close-knit, than most scenes based on geography. And i'm including Milwaukee in that. As much as i love Milwaukee and consider it my band's home, we feel even more at home among out fellow PRFers.

So hey, there's some great music happening at Klas Restaurant in Cicero this weekend. It's open to the public and costs $10 for tonight, $15 for tomorrow, and $20 if you attend the whole weekend. The price includes food, people. So don't be afraid to come check out something a little different, off the beaten path, and is warm, inviting, and with thoroughly kick your ass from here to the United Kingdom and back.

Tuesday night i unpacked my CDs and began to arrange them in the apartment i now share with Liz (as opposed to my original idea of stashing them in the basement since most of them are on my computer anyway). I'm glad i didn't hide them away, because the process of going through my CDs always stirs years of half-remembered memories of bands that otherwise would be long forgotten. There's a disc on the top row called Juvenile Anthems by a band called Anger; i remember them as a run-of-the-mill punk band that i found entertaining at the time but i might not be as into today, 14 years later. Thanks to their show at the Concert Cafe in Green Bay, i've got the Black Halos' The Violent Years, which i'm positive i only listened to once. Digging around in my car i located a CD i picked up at the Borg Ward by a rad weirdo-punk band called Beings; did they open for Torche? I can't remember, but i remember liking them and hating that my aging disc drive refused to rip the songs onto my Mac Mini. Red Planet's Let's Degenerate? Another more power-pop reminder of my Concert Cafe years.

It's a good thing i have these CDs; otherwise, there's a very good chance that i'd have forgotten about every last one of these bands, good and bad. It reminded me of something i wrote on our tour blog, something that i thought about a lot during our road trip:

As i stood around at the Caledonia Lounge on Tuesday night watching everyone drink, chat, and completely ignore our merch table (save the bartender and Chris Dragon's friend Sarah, who accounted for our first CDs sold in four days), i thought about the hundreds--thousands?--of touring bands i've seen over the years from the Concert Cafe in Green Bay to the Cactus Club in Milwaukee, and i'm sure that many of the ones i've forgotten were damn fine. Do any of the attendees at the Longbranch in Knoxville even remember the name "IfIHadAHiFi?" Or are they more likely to say "oh, man, that band...I Wish I Had A HiFi? They were great," their memories of the bands they saw on a random Monday night in August 2011 already fading into a jumbled mash of beer and feedback? As in love with our self-constructed image of the band too crazy to ignore as i am, i realistically get the feeling that by tomorrow it'll be "those bands with the crazy drummer" and "yeah, that night our pals played with some touring bands" by September, if not Friday.

I count twenty-one CD copies of our new EP remaining out of 50 we started tour with. That's twenty-nine copies out there along the East Coast. Assuming they don't get dumped at a CDMax in a few months, that's hopefully twenty-nine people who will, at the very least, have that same "oh YEAH!" moment i just had while eying my Anger CD for the first time in years. As i said elsewhere in that paragraph, this tour was a pretty inefficient way to encourage memorization of our band name, but for us, the biggest reason to play shows is to visit our friends and play music for them.

Unfortunately, that's not the most fair attitude to have when we have an awesome dude at Latest Flame Records mortgaging his future to promote bands he loves. If we want to move product (if we don't, it sort of makes us assholes, really), conventional wisdom would normally dictate that we have to tour more often than the middling two weeks per year we generally embark on. However, it's 2011, and certain truths have taken hold in our post-Napster age: people are buying less and less physical music, and the number of touring bands competing for that ever-shrinking fan dollar is higher than ever. Also dwindling rapidly is the number of people who value music, period, as evidenced by the basement show we played in Bloomington, Indiana that earned us a cool $13 in donations from about three of the twenty-some kids in attendance. "Hey, man, cool show! Your band is really good!" "Hey, thanks! Did you donate anything for the show at all?" "Aw, dude, i have like no money. *drinks BYO beer #5* So when ya coming back to Bloomington?"

It's obvious that young people don't put a price on music the same way that those of us who grew up with vinyl, cassettes and CDs did, and hell, many of them don't seem to value live performance over the beer they're drinking that night (though i doubt that's a recent development). Yes, money isn't the main reason that anyone should play in a band, but without it, producing recorded music--even the digital kind--becomes less and less appealing of an idea. Look, we can all talk until we're blue in the face about how we make music for ourselves, and how none of us are looking to do this for a living, and that may even be true, but let's be honest--validation is pretty damn sweet too.

So, assuming that there are still people who care about physical music products, and people who still care about seeing new or more underground live bands, what's the best way to reach through the sea of apathetic bodies and connect with those more "active" (for lack of a less douchey, less marketing-sounding term) listeners? I have some thoughts on this, but would love to read some in the comments too:

1) Quality over Quantity. Being able to tour three months out of the year would be awesome, but it's also unrealistic for dudes in their 30s with day jobs, and a lot of those shows would be of the Bloomington basement show sort anyway. But there are ways to tour smarter instead of tour harder. Coordinating with the label to see where the record's getting played; more aggressive regional touring (we could probably stand to hit Minneapolis more than once every two years, honestly); and working those bigger shows wherever possible. That one Archers show was probably more effective than a week of touring as far as getting the name out and about.

2) Teamwork, online and in the meat world. Videos. Twitterz. Podcasts. Facesbooks. Blogs. ENTERTAINING CONTENT. Yeah, establishing a solid base of followers on the internet is a long commitment, but at least you can do it from your living room. During a conversation with James from Police Teeth, he said he was pretty sure PT has sold more records online than via shows. "The Black Flag touring model is long, long dead," he said, and i think he's right.

So how do we coordinate that stuff? Like i said, it's got to be entertaining, and then shared like crazy amongst like-minded folk. The Latest Flame bands have been walking around saying "less of a label, more of a street gang" ever since NAP JUSTICE; maybe we should start acting like an online street gang? Heck, i wear the shirts of other Latest Flame bands at nearly every show i attend these days, and i wore Waxeater's shirt on stage at the Archers show. I dunno how much love that gets the other guys, but there's a mentality involved that puts me in the frame of mind to hype my pals every chance i can get. I was wearing the Waxeater shirt when we arrived in Philly on tour, too; when some of the other bands showed up, they reacted. "Oh hey! Waxeater! All right!" Familiarity compounds on itself and breeds more familiarity.

Any other thoughts? I'd love to hear 'em.

Here i sit, in front of my computer in what will soon be my former apartment, slowly allowing my life to return to a state of post-tour normalcy. I've got a lot to deal with this week--i need to move the rest of my stuff to the new place; i need to figure out when i can go visit Dad; somewhere in there i have to get back to that little annoyance of trying to find a job. But for now, i'm chilling out, petting my cat, and putting the finishing touches on our 2011 tour journal, because i know all twelve of you who've been reading can't wait.

Lansing, MI - Mac's

Paulding/Arson/Sleeperhold/Imp Walker/Defenestrate/Telescope/NMM

By the time the show began at Mac's on Friday, many of us were wiped out and cranky. The Wizard was snapping at people and many of us needed naps. I blame a combination of things, but the one thing we were most excited for--leisure time--was probably a huge factor. Thanks to the 90-minute drive from Detroit to Lansing, we had lots of time to waste for the first time all tour, and we opted to spend it in East Lansing among the college dudebros. Record stores and comic book shops were descended upon while Yale took to a coffee shop to do some day job work. At one point i met up with him and overdosed on the most amazing of mango smoothies. After two weeks of just staying afloat, health-wise, my body reacted to such a brazen intake of nutrition by slightly altering my consciousness to the point where i couldn't tell if i was in a food coma or if i was tripping balls on vitamins and nutrients. Add in a stop at a pita joint on the main drag and my only option was a power nap while the rest of the gang watched Punch-Drunk Love in the bar. Fortunately, the brief 15-minute crash was just what i needed.

Still, it felt like the prevailing attitude among some in our little party was "let's just get these last two shows over with," which is a dangerous frame of mind to be in. It screws those bandmates of yours who are actually trying to give the paying customers a memorable show, and it screws those customers, who are paying money to see you play and be 100% entertaining. It's the ultimate in selfishness, and no band should tolerate or suffer it. As Skeeter Pomeroy once said in the pages of the venerable, long-discontinued Milwaukee zine Milk, "if you're going to be sad, you have to be mad, or it's not going to work." In other words, if you're not rocking out, then fuck you, and the audience is well within their rights to let you have it.

Fortunately, this time, neither band's performance was adversely affected, and all crankiness was exorcised by the time HiFi played to what was probably the best crowd of the entire tour. Mac's was fairly packed for both our touring bands (even though we had to play before the two local bands instead of bookended between them, but whatever--chalk it up to miscommunication), and we blazed through some of our finer performances of the tour. I think it was Pittsburgh where my body finally managed to make sense of the endurance test i'd been putting it through; while most of the tour found me playing Zebras songs in a very tense, barely-held-together fashion, by Pittsburgh my arms and posture managed to find their zone (as well as my brain finally realizing that if i play the fills in the lightspeed "The Sun" as triplet sixteenths instead of standard sixteenth notes, i'm not pushing my arms to their dropoff point), and it's been clear sailing ever since.

Ft. Wayne, IN - The Brass Rail

Pot. Energy/Paulding/We Fiddle/Imp Walker/Arson/Black Holes/Success

After some more time spent in East Lansing, an incredible breakfast at a pancake house that served peanut butter and banana French Toast, and the realization that the bass cab was going to be fine for the last show (it blew because of mismatched ohm ratings between head and cab--an 8-ohm head pumping into a cab with two 8-ohm speakers that apparently cancel themselves out into a 4-ohm rating or some shit, so with only one speaker connected the ohms matched...I DON'T KNOW I'M JUST THE STUPID DRUMMER), spirits going into the final show were crazy high. We also had done a count of the cash in the HiFi band fund and realized that we were finishing this tour far ahead of where we started, somehow. We began in a $95 hole thanks to the fun times with the van impound and an oil change; even with that money reimbursed, we still ended the tour with around $290 in our previously depleted band fund. BRING ON THE STRIPPERS!

The Brass Rail is a killer little punk rock/rockabilly dive, and apparently the only cool thing happening in Ft. Wayne, a town where people apparently still drive past the punk bar and yell "hey, is that a gay bar?" at you when you're outside it. Pal, if this place were a gay bar, the drinks would be even stronger than they already are, so i don't know why you consider that an epithet.

On this night the HiFi played after a touring pop-punk band from Detroit and before Zebras and the local headliners, Kan-tis, a sort of more metal Primus (complete with funky bassist wearing a propeller hat and...a Primus shirt. Fuck yeah). After the pop-punksters' positive reaction from the crowd, HiFi set up, opened with "(The HiFi Vs.) Potential Energy," and were immediately greeted after the opening number with the following from some visibly pissed burly dude:

"THIS IS THE WORST SHIT I HAVE EVER HEARD!"

Well, strap in, buddy, because we're about to get a whole lot worse. Meanwhile, a dance party was breaking out in the front row as two well-dressed individuals couple-danced and one complete knockout gyrated near her boyfriend (or someone who wanted to be? I dunno). All in all, i'd call our completely face-melting set a win, and this set the best tour-closing performance HiFi's had since 2004, when we closed our tour that year with a killer show at Madison's High Noon Saloon and two of our girlfriends surprised us at the venue.

As i tore down my drums after a similarly killer Zebras set (possibly the best one of the tour, complete with rowdy fans who had seen the band before and a great sequence in "The Gift" where The Wizard took the theremin into the crowd and played it against people's heads), i bemusedly observed a fairly amorous couple lose the ability to wait until they got home to take matters into their overly-rambunctious pants. The girl disappeared into the ladies' room while her boy stood guard at the door and then not-at-all-surreptitiously went in after her, locking the heavy bolt on the door behind them. I can't say it was a bad plan, as that bolt was secure as hell--i used it myself when i had to drop a deuce at the venue earlier (normally i do my damnedest to avoid pooping at a punk bar because the men's room is never a crap-safe area--there's never a door on the toilet nor a lock on the bathroom itself. But we were talking critical goddamn mass and so the women's room was my only choice. Funny thing--ladies' bathrooms are covered in WAY fewer band stickers than men's rooms).

A girl showed up to knock on the door, but i broke the news that the facilities were due to be unavailable for a while. "Sorry, someone's fucking in there." "Are you serious? God, i really have to pee!" I had been chatting with a guy friend of Kan-tis' (and explaining the restroom coitus to him as well), so we assured her that if she used the men's room we'd stand guard. As she attended to her needs in the dude's room, we heard the megabolt unclack and the glowing couple emerged. I greeted them with a loud "YYYYYEAAAAAAAHHHH!" and Friend of Kan-tis lost his shit laughing. To the couple's credit they merely grinned, giggled and went about their evening.

Every touring band was paid $100 at the end of the night, which solidified the Brass Rail as Completely Fucking Rad in my book. Despite their weird-ass oddly-shaped stage (more long than wide, which made our stage plot a bit weird to sort out and meant that i was about 4 miles from the rest of the band on stage), and because of their patrons' willingness to voice their displeasure in hilarious ways (along with the dude yelling at us during the set, at one point i went back to the men's room, where i had tagged the celing with a HiFi sticker, only to see that the sticker had been removed), i would highly recommend this place to anyone who wants to play a show in one of those small towns where they're happy to see decent punk rock of any kind come through.

We followed a years-old HiFi tradition of driving straight home after the last show, arriving in Milwaukee around 7 AM with bleary eyes and happy hearts. Was this the best tour IfIHadAHiFi has ever been on? I don't know if i'd say that. I'd call it a pretty damn good one, however. Sure, we played in front of some ambivalent zombies in Nashville, and had shows with audience numbers in the single digits, but as i've said before, getting our name "out there" is, at this point, a secondary goal behind visiting pals and taking in this incredible country of ours. Sure, there were times while driving through torrential rain on precarious New York bridges where none of this touring nonsense seemed worth it, but we also finished strong with four consecutive shows that reminded me exactly why we do this. Am i already planning next year's two-week tour? Fuck no, but i'm definitely not against doing another one.

I'd rather not drive as much next time, though.

Detroit. Small's.

We Fiddle/Arson/Black Holes/Magnets/Imp. Walker/Telescope/NMM

I'm at the bar after both my bands have gone over big time at Small's. Sure, we somehow managed to blow the second bass speaker of the tour, but throw all the HiFi feedback into the mix, and no one really noticed the flappy flap that much. We're selling some CDs and hearing killer compliments. One dude is adamant that he being us back in the Spring to play with his band and Child Bite. The bartender is pouring me my third whiskey & coke and a cup of water when the cute brunette in the oversized Descendents t-shirt next to me makes eye contact.

"The drummer." It's a statement, but she's squinting, looking for confirmation, as she has been drinking. I confirm her suspicion.

"Your talent...rises...above. Really." She's being exceedingly complimentary, almost fawning. She's a piano player who is trying to learn drums, and she's asking question after question about my ability to sing and play drums at the same time. I give her my usual boilerplate when it comes to the whole singing drummer thing: it was tough as hell to learn, i used to listen to The Pop Machine sound board recordings and hear my tempo accellerate out of control on the songs that i sung, i've been drumming for over 20 years, practice, practice, practice. All the while, the girl is getting more intense and more inquisitive, and i can see this conversation is leading to something that she needs to get off her chest. It's been on her mind, and she's been waiting for the right person to unload on--the person who'll understand the story she needs to tell. And i'm not sure how much she's had to drink tonight, but suffice to say it was enough to guarantee that this story will be told tonight, because apparently the singing drummer in the touring band, it has been decided, qualifies as the sympathetic ear she needs tonight.

"Have you ever had anything in your life that has kept you from doing this?"

I'm not sure where she's going with this, but i've never been considered an under-sharer, so i'm not uncomfortable telling her that i once had a relationship that ended because of the distance that resulted from me not moving to another state and choosing to remain with the band. But essentially, no, i've chosen jobs that enable me to tour and make music, and i've always made it a top priority.

The dam breaks, and my new friend, fueled by a night of rock n roll and lots of alcohol, let's 'er rip. You see, she wants to do what i'm doing--touring the country and rocking out, but her father is incredibly sick and it has fallen to her to take care of him. It takes up nearly all her time and she can't dedicate the time to her music that she wants. She's on the verge of tears several times during her story, and while i'm a little uncomfortable--after all, i've known this girl for ten minutes at this point--my heart is breaking for her.

I'm thinking of, and i tell her about, my grandma, who lost most of her adult life to a combination of single motherhood and caring for a parent (my great-grandma) who was unable to care for herself after my great-grandpa died, for various reasons including her health. I've at times, on my grandma's behalf, resented her immediate relatives, who never bothered to help with her mom. I most assuredly feel for this girl.

What i don't tell her is that as we're speaking, my father is in a hospital recovering from an infection and dealing with the fact that his cancer has returned and he will soon be losing his jaw and may never eat solid food again. I don't tell her this because this conversation is about her, and all she needs to know is what my mentioning my grandma accomplished--that i empathize.

Every child has to face the possibility at some point that the tables may turn and that they may become their parents' caretaker. Perhaps selfishly, i've always been a little thankful that since i live in Milwaukee, that responsibility may fall to siblings of mine that live closer to my ever-aging parents. But faced with it now, with this sweet, sad-eyed girl living out my worst-case scenario, thinking about how my own father is fighting right now, there's little i want more than to drop everything and be at his side.

She's wondering aloud how she can possibly have her own life, to the fullest that she wants to live it, when she has this stifling responsibility. I manage to say something trite about how important finding balance in life is--figuring out how to reconcile life's responsibilities with finding a way to live life to its fullest--but i have no idea how she should go about this. I don't know her life, and as much as i'd like to dole out a magic, cure-all answer to life, the universe, and anything, i don't have it. So all i say is all i can: "you've gotta keep playing."

She's said all that she wants to say. She asks me my name because she wants to remember our conversation. I tell it to her but i'm skeptical that the beers will allow her to remember it. I thank her for her truly flattering compliments and i adjourn to the performance room to watch the last band of the evening play, our conversation spinning around in my head.

I guess that was really all i could say to her, right? "Keep playing." "What happens if he finally dies, and suddenly i'm 40? I've already lost so much time." You've gotta keep playing, for yourself at the very least, or else, in her words, you'll explode. Would my dad be happy that i bailed on tour to be with him? I'm sure he'd appreciate the gesture, but ultimately he'd want me to finish my shows. Does my new friend's father know that she's put her music on hold for him? I have no idea, but if he's a good dad, i can't imagine he'd be happy about it.

So at the end of the night, i make sure to find her one more time. "It was very nice meeting you. Thank you so much for the nice things you said to me tonight." She gives me a new-friend hug, and i say to her, "keep playing, and take care of yourself."

"Thanks. You too."

I'll be home soon, Dad.

The following is the Yelp review i plan to post when i get home regarding the Newport, KY Johnny Rocket's Family Fun Diner of the Apocalypse:

I feel bad for the waitstaff at Johnny Rocket's. Not only are they required to shout mass salutations at every customer who enters the establishment, which personally makes me feel extremely self-conscious, but our poor waitress, a lovely woman who kept her energy up as much as could be expected while drawing ketchup smiley faces in cardboard bowls for no discernible reason other than that maybe toddlers would find it cute?, performed her job with the thinly-coated veneer of an employee who just under the surface very obviously wants to shoot herself in the damn face.

It's easy to see why. Early on in our Johnny Rocket's experience, it was pointed out by our server that gratuity is automatically added to the bill. We thought nothing of it initially, but after receiving our food, it was obvious that the tip is automatically added on to prevent what had to have been a rash of tip stiffings resulting from wide-spread dissatisfaction with what initially seems like a reasonable menu. How many waiters and waitresses have ventured in and out of this place after the thirty-second tip consisting of three pennies and a loose button? The "help wanted" sign was prominently displayed in the bay windows. I can't imagine they ever come down.

A quick note about pricing: if your sandwiches are going to float in the $8-$9 range, industry average dictates that this is a price that includes a side. The fact that your fries come in a "darling" little metal deep-fry basket does not justify charging an extra $2.75. And let's not even get into your cheese fries. Nah, fuck it--let's get into them. If they're gonna be $7, shouldn't the pile of nacho cheese, jalapenos and sour cream have more than 10 fries underneath them?

No chorus of hellos, no army of corn-syrupy ketchup smiley faces, can conceal the fact that your food is the saddest joke since the final scene of Solondz's Storytelling. The difference here is that no one should feel remotely bad for laughing at your cluelessly misguided "product."

By the way, tonight we played at Southgate House for the first time ever. The fact that the best conversations of the evening involved discussing Brainiac with the sound guy and our new awesome friends in the Jesus Lizardy Swear Jar should tell you all you need to know about how awesome the evening was. While only 11 people paid, which wasn't enough to garner any gas money from the door, the combination of band dudes and audience members filled out the room to the point where, after a night of playing for three people in Pittsburgh, it looked like a packed party house. I personally played the best sets i've played in days; not sure why, since i only got three hours of sleep the night before. But my wrists were more relaxed than they've been all tour, and my fills benefited from whatever zen trance i managed to put my body into.

HiFi Southgate Set: Tunguska/Paulding/Imp. Walker/Black Holes/X-13D/Pot. Energy/Arson/Success

Tunguska was played as a special request for our pal Dale Freeman, who's been following us since the old Pop Machine days, but man, was it sloppy. Everything else sounded great, though, and based on the CDs we sold, most of the people there agreed.

But most definitely, the best part of the night was yet another example of Why Bands Tour--to find link-minded people in different cities. One such dude was Shane from Swear Jar, who shares my love for noisy punk rock, snark, and calling bullshit on most of the lightweight, MOR nonsense that passes for "indie rock" these days. We were instant pals and i can't wait to drag these guys up to Wisconsin to play and hang out.

We had a minor designated driver incident tonight, as everyone thought someone else was the DD, which resulted in Yale willing himself sober enough to drive us to our friend Jonathan's house to stay the night. The designated driving--hell, the driving all tour--has been very unevenly distributed, and my resentment is starting to bubble out in all sorts of passive-aggressive ways. In Brooklyn as we were led to our friend Patrick's house, i cranked Reign in Blood in order to drown out the distracting, drunken jabber going on in the van. Because i've been trying to keep my body from wearing down while drumming two sets per night, i haven't been doing a lot of drinking on this tour, which suits me just fine, but results in the DD position defaulting to me a little more often than it should. It's been irritating, but so it goes.

Tonight, though, was not one of those nights, as the Southgate House parlour's bartender does not fuck around with the whiskey. The Jameson shots Dale bought us all were clearly doubles; still, i slammed mine in one go, much to the protestation of my gag reflex. Screw you, body, you're going to take this rapid-fire inebriation and like it. For once on this tour, anyway. After all, writing Yelp reviews is the most fun when drunk, i have just decided right now.

It's a rule with our band (and probably with others as well) that the shows that involve the longest drive end up being the strangest and most sparsely attended. You may guess that with an intro like that, one of those shows will be recounted now. Well, i won't be giving you credit for that educated guess, because frankly it was a pretty obvious lead-in.

The drive from New Brunswick to Pittsburgh was supposed to be six hours, but tack on an hour waiting to get through a Pennsylvania toll booth where the lanes dropped down to one immediately after, then another half hour navigating construction in Pittsburgh, and we ended up rolling into Gooski's Bar around 8:15 after leaving at noon. This place was one of those charming dumps: writing adorned loads of square footage on the black walls, band stickers everywhere in the performance room, cheap greasy food, and the Milwaukee Brewers pounding the tar out of the Pirates on the television. I briefly pondered saying something about the Super Bowl or wearing my Packer NFC Championship t-shirt on stage, but think better of it after some online friends warn me that the van may be set on fire if i pull the trigger on my shit-talking scheme.

Band number one was named "Lightweight," and as it happened, it wasn't just a clever name, as their singer was mad slop-nuts wasted. He threw guitar picks at Yale, yelled at the audience, flailed into his band members, and whipped out his penis at least twice--once to drape its limpness (hey, some dudes are showers and some are growers) over his guitar and hump it at the end of the set. Despite how uncomfortable his bandmates and friends were rendered by the spectacle, the actual band sounded really good! Unfortunately, GG Allin Jr.'s antics broke a microphone, leaving the room with two working ones, limiting the HiFi's choice of songs. Ah well.

Sloppy McStaggerstein continued to impress during the Zebras set, resting his chin on Lacey's Moog and grabbing Vince's mic during "Diablo Blanco" and yelling into it, earning him a swift ejection from the premises. The exit from the show of Flashy McWiener and the friend who guided him out the door reduced the audience by 40%, dropping the number of people watching us from five to three (John from Microwaves, who set up the show; Vince's brother Dan; and the drummer from the second band). The HiFi set was a simple, bang-it-out six-song affair with the same number of people watching (like in Nashville, a bunch of people watched the locals and bailed for the touring bands--way to get the most value for your five dollars, numbskulls).

We Fiddle/Arson/Sleeperhold/Take the $/Imp. Walker/NMM (half tempo)

Yes, half tempo. Before we played "No More Music" John yelled out a request: "whatever song you're going to play, play it REALLY SLOW." We acquiesced and proceeded to crack ourselves up rocking out on "No More Music" in half time, complete with Yale and me singing the lyrics at 33 RPM. I'm pretty sure i saw John do a legit spit take with his beer while The Wizard and i would half laugh, half yell (a yaff?) at Yale for constantly wanting to change to the next part early. I'm really bummed that there was no video.

As we tore down our gear, Vince wandered over to us and said, "watch out--things are starting to get tense." A tat-sleeved dudebro was having a very quiet, but very intense conversation with John while the rest of us looked on, confused. When he finally wandered off, John explained, "i've never met that guy before in my life! But he's all, 'you know me. YOU KNOW ME. I know you from 16 years ago. You don't remember me? I was a pro skater. I was on MTV, man.'" What any of this had to do with the guy wanting to kick John's ass, we're not sure, but before the dude wandered away, he had turned to Vince while John had gone to talk to the owner.

"WHAT'S THAT GUY'S NAME?" he asked Vince.

"Uh, i don't really know him that well..."

"HIS NAME'S SHITBAG."

"Uh, ok?"

Things kept poor Vince's blood pressure sky-high when the dude walked to his truck to drive away (wisely, given his drunken state)--a truck that coincidentally was right behind our van, and that he needed to walk to as i was walking to our van. After he muttered something about "follow [my] honky ass," i kept glancing back at him until his stopped, threw his arms in the air, and said, "WHAT?" "Nothing, dude!" He staggered past me as Vince nearly had an aneurysm, but we had successfully navigated the "washed up and sad" level of Skate or Die for the Band Wii.

The crowd wasn't quite as thin for Sunday's show at Don Pedro in Brooklyn, but a similar scenario played out in that we got to endure the most white-knuckle drive of the tour in exchange for playing in front of a handful of people (who, unlike Pittsburgh, actually paid attention and enjoyed both bands thoroughly). A two-hour trip from Philadelphia to Brooklyn was stretched to four and a half hours by torrential rain and gasket-blowing traffic that had me convinced that this was my last tour ever as i gritted my way over the Gorgonzola Bridge (or whatever the fuck it's called) in one of two narrow, precarious-as-hell lanes of bumper-to-bumper.

The entire drive on Sunday, as my senses worked at peak efficiency to avoid hydroplaning and colliding with the semis that would pass mere inches from my head, i resolved that the fun parts of touring were no longer worth the aggravation, and this was it. No more after i get home. I quit. Fuck this for eternity.

Of course, as soon as we saw our friends Patrick Walsh and the late, lamented Mount Vicious' Bri Bri and Alli, my resolve to give the fuck up melted away with the rest of my bad mood. Both bands played killer sets and we were treated to some badass Hot Snakes-tinged screamy punk courtesy our friend Steve and his band We Ride. If we hadn't played with Maple Stave in Durham i'd say We Ride were the best band we've played with on tour.

Brookyln: Paulding/Ratings/Pot. Energy/Sleeperhold/Arson/Grace/Telescope/NMM

The only real drag of the Brooklyn show was that way more of our friends promised to make it out than actually showed up, but whatever. We'll see 'em in three years, maybe!

Just as the long drives resulted in low attendance, the shortest drive of tour, Brooklyn to New Brunswick, resulted in one of the most packed and fun. Our friend and PRFer Kelli's basement hosted a birthday party for her bassist Colleen (she turned 23, and i immediately re-evaluated why i was hanging out with a bunch of kids 13 years younger than me), and their band kicked things off, setting the tone for Zebras and HiFi to burn through a pair of high-energy, brief sets with an eye on getting the noise done by 10 PM in order to avoid noise ordinances.

New Brunswick: Paulding/Arson/Imp Walker/Pot. Energy/Telescope/NMM

The basement show may not have had a blasted guitar player waving his dick around and humping his guitar, but it did have lots of excited kids, awesome vegetarian food for us to nosh on, $75 in donations, and quiet time by 11 PM. Perfection in basement show form.

We have four shows left now. The end of this tour honestly can't come fast enough. I've finally started feeling the effects of playing two sets on a nightly basis, and i'm frankly starting to get tired. Goofy facial expressions are now at a premium, and my shoulder is starting to demand detachment from the rest of my body about halfway through Zebras every night. Gotta fight through it now. But at least i know that i can finish the tour, because i got an update on Dad's condition today. While his condition is improving and he's eating soft foods and his infection is clearing, we have confirmation that his cancer has returned to his jaw. Once his infection has totally cleared up, he'll be moved to either Madison or Milwaukee to have another huge chunk of his jaw removed and replaced with a graft of bone from his leg.

While i'm relieved to at least know what's going on, and am relieved that i can finish the tour, i know that in the back of my mind there's a paralyzing fear that i'm not letting myself feel until i get home. The night before my dad went into surgery in 2000 ranks a solid #1 with a bullet on the list of the worst days of my life. I don't want to have to deal with this. I really don't.

But like a raging thunderstorm on the New Jersey Turnpike, i'll fight through this shit, because i have to. Because making it to the next show is sometimes all we have.

No, but seriously, thunderstorms and car accidents have been following us everywhere on this tour. We drove past the worst wreck we've seen yet on our way to the Danger Danger Gallery in Philly: car completely flipped; telephone pole cracked in half about 20 feet in the air, top half dangling in wires; 35 MPH zone. Someone needs to do an expose on city drag racing, i think--that shit's making a crazy mad comeback.

PREVIOUSLY ON "IFIHADAHIFI VS. PHILADELPHIA:"

We had an OK show in Philly in 2006 when we played a house venue called The Big Pink House (although we severely dropped the ball that night when, after two weeks of making John Mellencamp jokes, we opted for MotownPhilly jokes EVEN THOUGH WE WERE IN A PINK HOUSE), but our 2008 show in Philly with White Wrench Conservatory was a nightmare. Not only did we get to sit in a bar called The Fire and watch CC Sabathia get positively shelled by the Phillies during the Brewers' first playoff series since 1982, but then no one in the bar hopped across to the band room to watch us. We ended up playing in front of two of Dixie's friends, and that was it.

So we weren't all that thrilled to have to try to book a Philly show on this tour, and did all we could to avoid it. But our friend in Lancaster wasn't able to close a deal for us, and so, out of desperation, i emailed Danger Danger, a gallery that had never returned my emails in years previous. This time, however, they responded (!), and invited us to play their big anniversary benefit party to raise money for the gallery. Unfortunately, it being a benefit, it meant that touring bands would get no money out of the door, and we'd have to rely on merch sales. Having no other options and realizing that probably most all-ages kids in the area would be there, we agreed and decided to hope for the best.

Amazingly, we got pretty close. After a pair of, shell we say, more "sensitive" musical sets in the basement room of the gallery, HiFi set up and prepared to give these kids a good old-fashioned punk rock kick in the teeth. The venue did a great job of herding the audience into the room where the next band was playing, and--TAKE A LESSON FROM THIS, NASHVILLE--the kids were actively engaged with what was going on, which was excellent. I opened our set with a "We're IfIHadAHiFi from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We're a dance band. That's a hint, and you should take it," and launched into "Paulding Light." Yale kicked his stage antics into overdrive and we blasted those kids to the back of the room, much to their delight based on the loud, enthusiastic response. As all sets were limited to 25 minutes, we made sure to pack them with only the most crucial party jamz.

SET LIST: Paulding/Arson/Imperial Walker/Pot. Energy/Black Holes/Success

Zebras had an equally exuberant audience, including the occasional three-person circle pit during the more speedy numbers like "Me U God" and "Wiener Kids." All in all, these kids redeemed Philly in our eyes as a town where the kids know what's up.

HiFi managed to sell about $18 in merch, of which we proceeded to spend $12 upon our return to the previously lamented Fire. Our labelmates Trophy Wives were playing there and we not only wanted to see some solid bros in the middle of tour, but we wanted to help fill the room for them, because of course, based on our sample data of one weeknight show with no local band, shows at The Fire never draw. As it turns out, they had a few people there ("about...twelve?" their singer Billy estimated outside the venue), but we did a solid job of beefing up the attendance with our seven bodies (six of us and one Marissa Berlin). The TWives blasted through an as-usual killer set of tunes from their just-out-now-on-Latest-Flame record Old Scratch and handily dealt with a drunk Yale screaming at them to play a Wipers cover that they've forgotten. Post-show, Yale spied Billy by the side entrance and said "I'm gonna go punch him," to which i responded, "yes, that's a great idea. Punch Billy," knowing that Billy, being a man-mountain cross between an Appalachian pro wrestler and a bear, would be more than capable of ending that encounter like it was one of those "Messin' with Sasquatch" beef jerky ads. All Billy did, though, was ignore Yale and calmly walk into the bar, letting the door slam shut behind him while Yale drunkenly bellowed "BILLY I'M GOING TO PUNCH YOU!" Hilarity.

A recount of this evening would not be complete without a salutation to the fabulous Michael Markowski, who bought us all dinner at a killer pizza place/brewery across from Danger Danger, and filmed our performance. Another above and beyond gesture of graciousness from another awesome tour pal.

We are currently chilling in Marissa's parents' palatial estate, which is large enough to have me convinced that they are Hank Scorpio-level supervillains. A Jacuzzi tub? A shower with two heads? COME ON! Our hotel room at the Marriott was less luxurious.

It occurred to me that i totally forgot to list off any of the set lists post-Nashville, so before we jump into it:

Knoxville: We Fiddle/Arson/Ratings Spike/X-13D/Black Holes/Take the $/Telescope/No MM

Athens: Ratings/Pot. Energy/We Fiddle/Black Holes/Arson/Take the $/No MM/Certain Fate

Wilmington: Paulding/Arson/Black Holes/X-13D/We Fiddle/Sleeperhold/Probalos/Success

Part 4: "Hey Man, Her Name's Kim"

Something we made sure we questioned on stage at both the Wilmington show and in Durham was what in the blue hell the deal is with a theme park we drove past on the SC side of the SC/NC border called South of the Border. We couldn't decide whether or not this place was the most casually racist theme part we've ever seen, but whenever we asked, audience members laughed and shrugged with slight expressions of embarrassment. I dunno, you tell me--are a giant sombrero drop and drunken Mexican caricatures ethnically sensitive?

Not pictured: dignity

The good vibes and generosity of North Carolina continued in Durham, thanks to our pals in the crushing Maple Stave. Their drummer Evan sprung for a hotel room at the downtown Marriott not two blocks from the Pinhook, the coffee-shop-vibed bar hosting us for the evening. It was here where i proceeded to play the sloppiest Zebras set of the tour thus far, questioning how my endurance has held up during week 1 of this two-shows-per-night escapade. Fortunately, when you play as fast as Zebras does, the drumming is such a blur that no one can tell when i'm fucking up, it seems, because Evan (one of the few drummers i'm legitimately self-conscious playing in front of, because he is dazzlingly incredible behind his kit) was totally into it.

I played better during the HiFi set, where the tempos are less insane and more geared toward dancing, and a decent-sized crowd at the Pinhook got into it enthusiastically, a few people even taking photos!

Durham set list: Paulding/Rating Spike/Fiddle/Imp Walker/Arson/Chance-Medley/Telescope/NMM

Zebras even officially outdrew HiFi in Durham, as a lovely lady by the name of Kim attended the show to see Zebras specifically. She attends a lot of Those Poor Bastards shows (Vince's other band, a synth-tinged country duo) and was psyched to see Zebras (which happens a lot with TPB fans, it seems, which is beyond cool. I still haven't explored a lot of TPB, but it seems that Zebras is nowhere near the TPB wheelhouse, so for their fans to come to Zebras shows and "get it" is pretty rad).

Vince, Lacey and Kim hung out quite a bit, which apparently cheesed off one of the bartenders (Vince suspects said bartender was trying to chat her up). In Vince words, "when i started talking to her the dude got really salty. I think he thought i was some sleazy creep, but then she walked away and the dude leaned over and said, 'hey, man, her name's Kim,' like he decided to help me out or something. It's cool, i know who she is, dude!"

Durham, North Carolina: gorgeous downtown, a cheap bistro with awesome salads and sandwiches (visit Toast when in Durham, for serious), and some seriously awesome rockers (honestly, Maple Stave threw down the best performance we've seen on this tour so far. Absolutely pummeling). This tour is officially good vibes all around now.

Part 5: DC Will Do That To You

One of my worst tour nightmares came close to coming true last night in Washington, DC. It still may.

We had loaded in to the Everlasting Life vegan cafe in Washington, DC and had just eaten some incredible mostaccioli when i got a text message from my brother Kris. "Call me at your earliest convenience."

As my parents and grandma get older, i occasionally feel mild pangs of guilt that i don't live closer to them and spend more time with them than i do. Granted, that would entail living closer to the Fox Valley and not in Milwaukee, which would kill my soul, but that doesn't stop me from feeling bad about geography cursing us by distance.

So when my little brother calls me while on tour to drop the bomb that Dad's back in the hospital in serious shape, it's a surreal, sobering thing. Dad is a throat cancer survivor, having had surgery in 2000, but he's fought health problems for years after, including problems with his teeth stemming from the radiation therapy (they've basically rotted out of his head and caused infections left and right). He's back in now, and the doctors are fearful that his cancer's returned.

My mind raced on the phone--do we need to bail? Do i need to be back in Wisconsin? My brother and mom talked before he called me and we all seem to agree that there's no reason for me to cut bait and bail on the tour, as there's nothing i could do if i were there while they do tests anyway. But if his condition worsens to a point that i can barely type without my throat going dry, i won't have a choice.

It was with all this hanging in the back of my head that i took the stage at this charming little vegan cafe and proceeded to thrash away in front of 20 paid attendees. Kris had ended our conversation with something he's heard me say before--"take it out on the songs." It's my personal demand of myself to never let personal shit get in the way of a good performance on stage. For one, it's selfish to let me shit ruin a show for the other guys in the band, and for two, it's the best therapy in the world.

I also had old friends in the audience to keep the dark thoughts from taking over--an old internet pal named Andy whom i hadn't seen since around 1996; and my best friend from childhood, Sean, who now is a hardcore Republican working for the US Chamber of Commerce. I dedicated "Imperial Walker" to him as "the song that got me in the National Review before him," which was his reaction when that hilariously misfired "review" hit. It's reassuring to me that two old pals on the opposite sides of the political aisle can remain good friends.

So i bashed away at my drums to entertain my old friends, and i bashed away to work through the stress of being 894 miles from my family in a legit time of need. As of now, i'm keeping myself optimistic that i'll be able to finish this tour, merely having to deal with the shadow of my dad's health as a ghost following us in the background. If you could do me a favor, dear person reading this, shoot a few positive thoughts our way to reinforce my positive thinking, won't you?

DC set list: Grace/We Fiddle/Imp Walker/Black Holes/Magnets/Arson/NMM

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