6,530 miles, 7 shows, 1 angry cowboy: On the road with Moviola

The blueprint (except there really isn’t one) for most bands goes something like this: Start a band in your 20s, write songs, play a ton of local shows, make records, play more shows farther from home, continue onward, upward, sideways until the spark fades, lawyers get involved, the bass player is jailed, or fame and legend is secured.

I’ve played in a band based mostly here in Columbus, Moviola, (pron. “movie-oh-la”) since 1994 or so, ever since a vacancy arrived on bass. (I’d never played a musical instrument; many would say I still can’t.) Together with my friends Jake Housh, Ted Hattemer, Scotty Tabachnick, and Greg Bonnell, we followed our version of that blueprint. We wrote songs, played a lot of local shows, recorded and released a horde of 7-inch singles and albums, played a steady string of shows in New York, Boston, Chicago, and parts in between, playing with bands we’d only imagined. Got married, had kids, got divorced. Got a lot of nice reviews (of the music, not the marriages). We even recorded a demo at the request of a major label that recoiled in horror when we said we weren’t really into quitting our day jobs. We slowed down a bit in the early aughts when life got a bit crazier. Scotty moved to Vermont and Jake became increasingly nomadic, but over the last decade we have been recording, releasing records, making art, and playing in earnest again. Over that span of 30-plus years, there were many, many things we’ve never done as a band. Near the top of that list: play shows on the West Coast.

Dromedary Records out of Kingston, NY, released our 12th album, Earthbound, last fall, and paid some actual money to help promote it, so we figured the least we could do was to play some shows to sell a few records. With the help of long-ago connections and our friend and booking agent, Kyle Sowash, by hook or crook, we set up seven shows in eight days in mid-July. Seattle to Tucson. AARP discount for the van rental. West bound and down.

Show 1: Friday, Seattle

Age is nothing but a number, they say, but it’s also nothing but a painful feeling rolling out of bed in the morning. Dragging our 50- and 60-year-old bodies across the country in a van is something most folks would think twice about, but alas, here we are in the Emerald City. Jake and Ted drove, the rest of us flew to meet up. Seattle is stunningly gorgeous. We’re staying in the Ballard section of town at an Airbnb, which has a lovely rooftop patio we all take advantage of to watch the planes overhead and marvel at the far-off mountains and canopy of old pine trees. We played in Ballard at the Conor Byrne Pub, all exceedingly nice folks (and Ohio ex-pats). A little rusty, as we all hadn’t played together since late February, but a vocal crowd of fans and former Ohioans (including Dana Marshall from Scrawl, now a Seattle resident) pulls us through. Jake’s brother Josh is there, and they sing a couple songs together like only people with the same DNA can.

Set: 45 min.
Gas: $5.70/gal.
On the van stereo: Blaze Foley “Clay Pigeons”

Show 2: Saturday, Portland

The Portland show was in the small-but-amazing Mississippi Records shop. If you’ve never checked out the label they run, do yourself a favor. We arrived in early afternoon to a full reggae soundsystem party in the park next door to the venue, which provided the perfect soundtrack to the afternoon’s exploration. While we never found the Women and Women First Bookshop (see: Portlandia), Portland is a distinct vibe that was quite easy to latch on to. We played with Cynthia Nelson (formerly of the excellent band Ruby Falls) and Change Life (formerly of the excellent band Woolen Men), who were both fantastic and gracious. We played great. Small rooms with minimal PAs can sound awesome (as opposed to big booming rooms with subwoofers rumbling), and everything sounds really perfect tonight. Many Ohio ex-pats again in the house and high school friends of Ted’s stop by. My cousin Tom, who I hadn’t seen in 30 years, shows up, as does Jake’s daughter, Camille. 

Set: 60 min.
Gas: $5.54/gal.
On the van stereo: Alex Amen “This Love of Mine”

Show 3: Sunday, Point Reyes

An 11-hour drive to a Sunday happy hour show necessitated driving three hours after the Portland show, and we caught a few winks in Roseburg, Oregon’s finest Motel 6. The drive through southern Oregon and northern California can be rugged and breathtaking, and driving through Grant’s Pass and alongside Mt. Shasta is about as different a landscape from Ohio cornfields as one could imagine. Pt. Reyes is a small crossroads in the protected lands and wine country of Marin County north of San Francisco. Millionaires mixing it up with farmers and locals, if you follow. Our show at the Old Western Saloon was a fun evening, until a pugnacious, lit-up cowboy named Jasper nearly ruined it. The po-po eventually dealt with Jasper. Our new pals Michael James Tapscott and Virgil Shaw both sounded wonderful, and we played to an appreciative room, including one fan who drove from Sacramento armed with a clutch of our early singles to be signed. Humbling and fun. We headed to a nearby campground to pitch our tents. Day off tomorrow, just a radio show in Berkeley to contend with. Easy, right?

Set: 60 min.
Gas: $5.70/gal
On the van stereo: Villagerrr “Carousel”

Show 4: Monday/Tuesday, Oakland

The “day off” on Monday was a bit of a misnomer, though we did get to spend some time on the Point Reyes Pacific coastline (Scotty stripped down and jumped in) and make the gorgeous-yet-harrowing drive down the rocky coastline in a 12-passenger van (Ted with the steady hand at the wheel). Scotty and I stayed behind in the city to see the assorted Haight-Ashbury and North Beach sights, but a drive through San Francisco to get to a radio appearance on KALX in Berkeley for Greg, Ted, and Jake proved to be a three-hour gridlock odyssey. They made it just in time, somewhat frazzled, and plugged the show for Tuesday night. We reassembled for a second night at the campground, cooked out, did laundry the next morning, and eventually headed to Oakland. The show Tuesday night was at John Waters’ legendary Stork Club. Our set went well, preceded by memorable turns from the Tofanas, Felix Costanza, and once again, Michael James Tapscott. We drove through some wildfire smoke after the show for an hour or so, and headed toward southern California.

Set: 50 min.
Gas: $5.44/gal
On the van stereo: Grateful Dead “Sugaree” (Winterland 10/18/74)

Show 5: Wednesday, Los Angeles

There has to be at least one dud of a show on this run, and L.A., while we did get to see scads of Ohio friends, proved to be that. Luis Mesa, who used one of our songs in his 1996 film, Staccato Purr of the Exhaust, even stopped by. Wild and unexpected. We played to a sparse Wednesday night crowd with Columbus ex-pat Lee Keeler and his duo Dolby Fuckers, alongside excellent L.A. quartet Major Awards. The club, the Escondite, was a grimy little dive, tucked away in a corner of Skid Row, and despite a half-functioning sound system and half-awake engineer, we soldiered through, collectively starting to feel a bit gassed from the trek. (It came as no surprise when the Escondite posted a few days later that they were closing. Perhaps we were the final straw?) Scotty’s college friend, John, put us up for the night in his lovely house on a steep hill with cats and dogs and banter well into the wee hours. John, a musician, had a gig the next morning, so we packed up early and headed for an afternoon exploring Joshua Tree on the way to Phoenix.

Set: 60 min.
Gas: $5.70/gal
On the van stereo: Guy Clark “L.A. Freeway”

Show 6: Thursday, Phoenix

If you have never been, Joshua Tree National Park, in the southern California desert, looks and feels like you’ve landed on another planet. The combination of 120-degree temperatures, Cholla cacti, and gargantuan rock formations can all be a bit disorienting and jaw-dropping. We barreled through at the hottest part of the day, so extended exposure for our pale Midwestern skin was unadvised. And if L.A. was a bit lackluster, Phoenix was a restorative triumph. We played with two young bands, Morphia Slow (dark, death country vibes) and The Sheaves (jagged, Fall/Eno-inspired), who were both beyond good. The crowd was great, we played well, people were, like, into it. All you can ask for. Everyone retreated to the outside patio post-show (where the temp was only 105 degrees after sundown) for celebratory beers and a cloud of cigarette smoke.

Set: 60 min.
Gas: $4.40/gal
On the van stereo: Meat Puppets – “Up on the Sun”

Show 7: Friday, Tucson

The final night of this run was at the Hotel Congress in Tucson, a historic hotel, venue, and four clubs under one roof, managed by our old Ohio pal, Curtis McCrary. Curtis did us a solid this evening, hooking us up with dinner, hotel rooms and a guarantee, just like the “real” bands get. Our friend Gabrielle Pietrangelo opened the evening outdoor show with a sweet set, and brought out some of her local friends to take it all in. We played well, nice to cap off the run in a beautiful setting. After the show we gathered on the hotel’s roof for a final hug and celebration. Morning came too soon. Jake, Greg, and Scotty would fly home. Ted and I would drive the van back to Columbus over the next two and half days. Tucson > Amarillo > St. Louis > Columbus.

Set: 60 min.
Gas: $4.25/gal
On the van stereo: McCoy Tyner “Passion Dance”

Some observations, a week removed:

– Uncrustables©, when heated over a campfire, are surprisingly good.
– The kids are alright.
– Asking questions of people you haven’t seen in many years is always preferable to incessantly talking about yourself.
– Making art and finding creativity at all stages of life is critical.
– Playing music together with the same five friends for over three decades is a rare and special thing.
– It’s not lost on us that we are fortunate to be able to consider even doing this.

Ted and I made the slog home over three time zones in two and half days, with a brief stop in Tulsa at the Bob Dylan Center (must see). After dropping off the van at CMH, it was blissful to sleep in my own bed. We may never do this again, who cares, we made it through. Equally thrilling, exhausting, and gratifying.

We’re playing in September at a small festival in Catskill, NY.

Can’t wait.