Over the Rhine Tour Diary
Dave Nixon (the Merch Guy)
Day Three: December 1, 2000
8:45 a.m. CST and we're an hour or so outside Madison WI. Rolling, furrowed fields dusted in white lie beyond the widow. They're punctuated occasionally by small houses, barns, silos, and patches of trees. Drops of water from the moist air collect on the windows and slowly work their way down the panes in a diagonal slant. The roads have sleet on their outer edges. At the moment the only ones awake are Chris and Terri, but Terri just headed back to bed to read and do some writing. Terri's the disciplined one among us: the first to turn in and the first to rise. She also wins the "Most Refined Award" for the 2000 winter tour. Chris reads. He's definitely the quietest of the entire bunch, and with his dark, intense glasses set against a closely shaved head he comes across as a brooding philosopher. I hear the windshield wipers, the hum of the bus, and the inane, sexually oriented banter of a radio station penetrating the curtain of the driver's compartment. The driver cackles furiously at most of the jokes. You know the radio format: two morning show guys who are loud, cynical, and developmentally frozen in the Jr. High years. Eric King, the OtR website guru, reminds me occasionally that this is as far as most of the American male population gets. I think about Spinner and Farns and imagine them doing a morning show. Now they could pull one off that would be worth listening to.
I'm tired. Very. The band lingered at the pub long after the show was over last night, hanging out in conversation with both the crowd and the establishment of the Busted Lift. It was hard to peel ourselves away because the pleasure ran both ways. We may have enjoyed their company more than they ours. Afterwards on the bus we sprawled in the front lounge and agreed that it had been a remarkable evening. And then we talked for a couple more hours until the momentum of the evening faded and drowsiness set in. Linford, Karin and I were the last awake, and after Karin turned in, Linford and I talked quietly for another thirty minutes. It was probably 3:30 when we called it quits for the night. We mostly talked about the tour and the risks involved in doing it. It's always a roll of the dice, and before you know it you can find yourself leaving the gaming board not only shirtless but also butt-naked. Yet in listening to him and asking questions, I realize again that Linford's capacity for risk is pretty huge. He comes across as a gentle, thoughtful soul with the quintessential poet's heart, but there's also a shrewd businessman in those royal blue slippers. May he break even.
People are moving slowly this morning. Karin comes out next and asks where everyone is. I tell her Chris has gone for a walk and she's the fourth one up, which surprises her. "I'm usually the last one," she says. Then she fumbles through the cabinets and fridge looking for bottled water. There is none, so I offer to go down the street to the college mall and pick up three gallons. It's an offer she can't refuse this early in the morning. When I get back on the bus there are five people waiting in the lounge who break out into enthusiastic applause. It doesn't take much to please on this bus. I realize you could win some long-standing gratitude by just making a daily list of things they need from a grocery store and purchasing them. The missing water brings up the toaster deficit as well. Karin tells anyone within earshot to buy a toaster if they can and they'll be reimbursed.
I change clothes go out for a run along the east shore of Lake Mendota. They tease me as I prepare to leave the bus because my running suit looks like something out of Star Trek. Karin applies a Vulcan death grip to my shoulder, but she's a far cry from Spock. Linford is just rising, so I invite him to run with me. (This is not beyond him. Eight days ago he completed the Third Annual Mount Glenway Thanksgiving Day Run, a 6-mile event conceived by Michael Wilson, the band's photographer. The first year there were two people, Michael and his brother Jimmy. Last year the race doubled in size, Rob Fetters and I joining the original cast. This year, the year of Linford's debut, the race swelled to nine.) But my invitation, considered for the briefest of moments, falls flat.
We could use some sun. A grey ceiling has followed us since beginning the trip. Everyone seems a little ragged today. Karin says she wants to watch Cow and Chicken after the show tonight.
The daily routine is familiar by now: sleep late, eat whatever's available for breakfast and hang out for a while, go to the hotel for showers, have lunch, load in the equipment, do the sound check / set up merchandise, break for a light dinner, do the show, load out equipment and merchandise, unwind in the lounge or go to the hotel for showers, then sleep while the bus travels to the next gig.
The show tonight was at the Pres House on the campus. About 200 people packed into what was formerly a church building but is now mostly used for concerts. The ceilings were high and the room echoed when empty. Spinner says that when he sees situations like this, he shakes his head and says to himself and the rest of the crew, "Boy, this is where we earn our money." After a lot of hard work he made the room sing. The crowd was mostly college age and pretty quiet before and after the show--maybe the architecture inspired silence--but their applause was sustained and loud following the songs, especially after Karin sang "Rhapsodie." I thought they were about to give her a standing ovation. They also laughed more at the little jokes and stories that Linford and Karin tell to introduce songs.
We're now back in the bus and everyone's in the front lounge talking quietly or watching Starsky and Hutch. The scene on the screen looks like something out of Austin Powers. Some people are gathering items to go shower at the hotel. I'll tag along to score a phone line for e-mail.
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