Vancouver (pronounced like Bad Bunny) ⚓︎
Rolling in to Vancouver at 3AM I gotta admit I was surprised to see tall buildings. I’ve been here before and I know this is very patronizing, but I forget sometimes that there are big metro areas in Canada outside of Toronto and Montreal. Or I’m just used to opening the bus door and seeing a flat no man’s land. But this zone has tall buildings and that dense type of green-spaced downtown that seems straight out of the concept art for capital projects circa 2008. Glass, park terraces, elevated highway.
I spent almost all day in my hotel room writing a tribute to James Gadson. Sometimes on tour days off I revert to a teenager-in-the-summer version of myself, by which I mean… I’ll stay glued to something I wanna do from the moment I wake up, not eating until like 6 o’clock, until I’m hypoglycemic, fingers shaking, and even paler than god and my mom made me. Then I’ll stumble into the world and eat an egg salad sandwich from 7-Eleven. (Did you know they’re bringing the Japanese ones to America?)
At the end of the day’s unnourished episode I called Case Oats’ bank to ask why they insist on keeping the band’s check deposits locked up for more than the usual three business days. I got no satisfactory answer—it’s always “verification,” no matter how much they know about who we are, and who’s paying us. I went full Peter Miller on them, which is what my family says when we’re putting on our most professional, persuasive, and, shall we say, embellished version of ourselves for a customer service agent. My grandpa, Peter (Zaid), was notorious for being able to revive expired sales, undo fees, or even will new discounts into existence by dint of his sense of righteousness (not entirely unfounded), his booming voice, and his willingness to be the most persistent thorn in your side—with a sweet tip, never cruel—that you’ve ever encountered. (In his most family-famous coup, he got a frozen yogurt company to load his truck with several pounds of samples.) When I’m trying to get a corporation to do something reasonable for me, I channel Zaid.
Everyone I know hates their bank. And there’s no great alternative. That’s why, sometimes, when I’m feeling over-confident, crazy, or both, I dream about chartering a credit union for artists (that has a usable app and website, unlike any credit union I’ve tried). But I don’t think I could make records and charter a credit union at the same time.
We’re nearing the end of this tour, the only full band Tweedy touring for a while, and I feel sad about it, but also so proud of what we’ve done (so many covers! and Twilight Override itself!).
Tonight we play the Commodore Ballroom, the only venue I’ve ever seen kick out a baby (nine months old) because of the specter of the idea of the possibility of a liquor commissioner seeing her in there…? In case she sprang for the tequila and an undercover officer happened to be sitting next to her? The world baffles in the smallest asinine ways sometimes, and I’m completely serious when I say I’m grateful that I encounter more of that kind of bafflement than the deprive-you-of-your-rights kind. Though if you ask the baby—at three, she can talk now—she might see it a little differently.
Tags: tour-report


