Knoxville -- After a lovely drive through the mountains of Western North Carolina, we arrive in Knoxville, TN. We pull up at the club. Modey Lemon are already there. The first person I see is Anders. He is wearing a 3-piece suit, gold and diamond dollar-sign medallions, a turban, and dark sunglasses. It’s a great look and I assume it’s only a matter of time before we get our asses kicked as we head further South. I park the van and immediately lose my keys. Erick and I go directly to the coffee roasting company that we visited last time and freak each other out on 4 shots of espresso each. After load-in, the bands go around the corner for dinner and I have a cool conversation with Phil about music, art, life, love, poverty, dreams, drive, dedication -- all the important stuff. We go back to the club for the show. Modey Lemon play great. They are managing quite well with Phil’s finger injury. Our set is much better than last night's. I think we are finally getting our groove on or something like that.
After the show, we go crash with some of the dudes from the opening band, The Cheat. Their band was really great but I wonder if this will be a typical "young dudes in band" house. It was. We walk in and the guy immediately starts blasting some loud California Punk Rock. He has a pit bull. The trashcans in the kitchen are overflowing. There is a bed in the dining room. I grab it and ask them to turn the music off. Erick asks if he can sleep in the laundry room. The dude says he probably shouldn’t since its usually full of wasps in the morning. I put in ear plugs and go to sleep. Probably about an hour later, I wake up in the kitchen. My hand is stuck in the peanut jar and there is peanut butter on my face. I go back to sleep and wake up around 9am, hours before anyone even moves. I try to get a drink of water from the kitchen and knock over a beer bottle, spilling old beer and liquid cigarettes all over myself. It's Monday morning and everyone I know at home is in an office or a classroom. Woohoo! My neck pain is gone.
After the troops are awake, we head back to the area where the club was. Our van has been -- guess what -- OVERHEATING, and it dumps its anti-freeze. We stop at Frank’s BP on the way out of town. Frank’s BP is owned by Frank Bender, the nicest gas station owner I’ve ever met. I chat with him for about 45 minutes while his fellows try to figure out what the hell is wrong with our van. He is an ex-military boy and has lived everywhere. He travels around in his super RV and shows it off to us. Paul stands guard at the van, watching the attendant's every move.
We leave town $93 poorer.
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