There I Go... Turn the Page
Tour is an unbelievably intense psychic crucible. The shows are profoundly rewarding expressions of mutual love and appreciation between us and the people who have stuck it out all these years waiting for us to play. They show up. They fly across oceans to be there. They know all the words. They request the deep cuts. They thank us for not playing that song. They are perfect. Perfect.
The camaraderie in the van (a rented Euro-style Sprinter!!!) is unprecedentedly positive, fraternal, and fun as well. It feels like a healthy, real band on tour for the first time ever. And I mean ever.
Everything seems poised for triumph.
And then I get fucking laryngitis? There's no pain, no other symptoms, no nothing; just no voice. Fighting the monitors at show number two (goddamn college sound guy), I sang myself completely out. Now, I'm popping steroids, swilling Throat Coat, and obeying a strict regimen of not speaking at all, which feels like a punishment sent down from Zeus--the perfect torture for a ceaseless yammerer like me. But to not be able to sing. AFTER ALL THIS. Why bother being alive? We almost cancelled Chicago, at Schuba's (one of the best clubs in America), which was SOLD OUT, for fuck's sake. My sound check was disastrous. But it was too late to cancel, so the show went on, and with the help of prednisone and the very palpable love and support of the people, I summoned up the last scrap of trouper spirit and sang my heart out (it felt like literally) for an hour. A short show, but legit. Now we have to cancel Buffalo so I can save up for a power home stretch of Toronto, Montreal, Boston, Motown Philly, NYC, and Hoboken.
I honestly don't know if we'll make it, though I intend to spend every last second worrying.
Nothing, but nothing, is ever easy. Not being able to talk is hell. Not being able to sing is a whole other matter. It's kind of all I have. Will advise.
The camaraderie in the van (a rented Euro-style Sprinter!!!) is unprecedentedly positive, fraternal, and fun as well. It feels like a healthy, real band on tour for the first time ever. And I mean ever.
Everything seems poised for triumph.
And then I get fucking laryngitis? There's no pain, no other symptoms, no nothing; just no voice. Fighting the monitors at show number two (goddamn college sound guy), I sang myself completely out. Now, I'm popping steroids, swilling Throat Coat, and obeying a strict regimen of not speaking at all, which feels like a punishment sent down from Zeus--the perfect torture for a ceaseless yammerer like me. But to not be able to sing. AFTER ALL THIS. Why bother being alive? We almost cancelled Chicago, at Schuba's (one of the best clubs in America), which was SOLD OUT, for fuck's sake. My sound check was disastrous. But it was too late to cancel, so the show went on, and with the help of prednisone and the very palpable love and support of the people, I summoned up the last scrap of trouper spirit and sang my heart out (it felt like literally) for an hour. A short show, but legit. Now we have to cancel Buffalo so I can save up for a power home stretch of Toronto, Montreal, Boston, Motown Philly, NYC, and Hoboken.
I honestly don't know if we'll make it, though I intend to spend every last second worrying.
Nothing, but nothing, is ever easy. Not being able to talk is hell. Not being able to sing is a whole other matter. It's kind of all I have. Will advise.
posted by Sean Nelson at 10:52 PM
9 Comments:
shit. this fucking sucks. it will come back! it will.
Sorry to hear about your voice, sir. I hope it comes back with no ill effect, and I hope double it comes back before Hoboken.
--Glen
Shite, shite, shite.
Nothing new to add, except continue to heed the admonitions of Dianne Wiest in "Bullets Over Broadway", "No, don't speak."
Being a to-be attendee of the Toronto show, I really do appreciate your rallying of will, and look forward very much to seeing you fellas do what you do best.
Good luck.
Sean,
If it's any consolation (and I know it likely isn't), I lost my voice at the Chicago show, too.
Forty-eight hours spent agonizing over how to thank you for Chicago's show, and I still haven't worked out how to say it properly. I'm shitty at love songs, as it turns out. There was talk of composing a thank-you note entirely in Nathaniel West quotations, but that idea got scrapped.
(Any phrasing of how your music shaped my adolescent and adult life, any description of how your words have profoundly touched me, keeps getting self-consciously deleted. I'm painfully aware of having been one of those thirteen-year-old girls who requested that Carson Daly play that music video because we thought we were helping, and we kids ended up driving you guys crazy the first time around. For what it's worth: I stuck around and quietly, longingly waited out the hiatus.)
And then, things fell into place this last year-or-so, and the Chicago show... my heartrate still hasn't returned to normal. I knew how the Madison show had rolled beforehand, and I was bracing myself for the worst of scenarios, but you fucking rocked it. The entire band was spot-on, your energy kicked ass, and... well, you know how the show went. I cannot believe you humored me (or were you planning on it anyway?) and closed with Carjack Fever: Even now, I'm kicking myself for having shouted it out, because I know how vocally demanding that song must be, and you're amazing for having the balls to close a show with Carjack Fever and laryngitis. Damn.
You guys mean the world to me. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you in Atlanta--gofering, flyers, groupie slut, whatever. I hope your voice makes a quick recovery and that the tour ends magnificently.
Love,
Christin
Atlanta, GA
wicked mega-huge bummer! I had a few friends at the schuba's show who said you guys rocked the sauce hard-regardles of your vocal dejection- to quote them, they described the show as 'lilted'. good luck with what remains!
Rub some dirt on it.
I was at the Schubas show (I'm glad you like it as much as we locals do!) and you sounded incredible. Thank you for not cancelling and for giving it your best shot! Can't wait to see you when you next come to town.
I'm happy to have seen the Urbana show. I'm so sorry about your voice.
Sometimes all we have are our worries I guess.
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