August 24, 2006
...And You Can Never Go Home Anymore.
(image callously stolen from a gentleman named Mathius Ailstock, whom I'm convinced won't mind.)
Ahhhh... that's better. And the seat's still warm. Now that the Parenthetical Girls tour has officially--OFFICIALLY--concluded, it's finally time to move on to bigger and better things: things like creative crisis, post-tour depression, end-of-summer ice cream gorges, and quiet reflection. Things that add up to feel a lot like total stagnation. But really, they're not.
There is news, so let's get to that first: To begin with, we played an exciting set at the PDX Pop Now! Festival... and I'm happy to report that--with the possible exception of Fleshtone--we were perhaps the most abundantly photographed band of the entire weekend. Which doesn't necessarily say much for our performance... but, well, nothing really does, does it? Regardless, it was a great deal of fun, in spite of the fact that someone thought it was a real laugh to tag "Zac Pennington is a Pretentious Asshole" all over the venue.
Another thing I forgot to mention: the fine Italians at Blow Up Magazine recently devoted an unprecedented five pages to our ugly mugs in their recent issue. It's primarily a Q&A affair, but get this: they translated my answers into Italian--so as far as I know, "I" could have said anything. But even if I were to get it translated, it would merely be a translation of a translation of my original answers... which I suppose would be a pretty revelatory read.
Oh, and back to that tour that I told you about concluding: don't you think it's about time we all relived it? ME tooooo!!! Thankfully, the trusty producers of Reality's a Fallacy were there to document it with a steady hand--for the last couple of days at least. Without further ado, Episode 6:
Other items of note: Parenthetical Girls are scheduled to play their very first show in my home town of Everett, Washington coming up on September 3rd. In Jim's basement. Either this will be a very triumphant celebration of hometown pride and unity or a depressing reunion of familiar twenty-somethings realizing just how little we've all actually done since high school. Possibly both. Either way, I think I've been trolling down the Myspace memory lane way too often lately, and it's scaring the shit out of me. But you should all come anyway... it'll be cool. Info is yonder.
More news? Why not?
To our good friends out Eastward: Parenthetical Girls have not forgotten you--though we suspect you've probably moved on from us. We are currently in the process of planning a brief Mid-Western/East Coast jaunt for the month of November regardless. Stay tuned.
We're also writing our new EP, which we hope to have ready for Slender Means Society and States Rights Records' Pregnancy Series by early next year.
All in all, we're really not at all as busy as we sound.
Cordially,
zac.
August 17, 2006
How Zac got his blog back.
Parenthetical Girls, I'm so sorry for keeping you suspended in tour this long. I didn't forget; I've just been a bit out to lunch (so to speak). How are your joints... feeling stiff? I see you've acquired some bedsores... good God. Let's flip you.
Picking up where we left off leaves us asleep on the floor of a kind advocate in Davis, CA. We collectively woke up later than our time-line allowed, which caused a rushed/hushed morning scramble, which resulted in a surly start to the miserably drawn-out journey ahead of us. But I was in relatively high spirits, considering my eyes were on the prize and all.
Boise, ID: the most anticipated show of the tour for me personally. Land of my birth, upbringing, and home to almost all of my immediate relatives. The drive turned out to be not so miserable after all, (google maps, you fickle claw), and I started to get the proverbial butterflies as we neared the Nampa (suburb of Boise) border. With a trapped-in-van audience, I directed us past my child-hood home; and on the way to my family's current abode, happened to run into my Junior High School, High School, and first job ever ("Moxie" Java).
At my parent's, Matt, Brenna, and Zac hung out in the basement (like the cool kids at Thanksgiving, who "aren't really hungry..."), while I entertained a revolving cast of relatives. In a word, this was "overwhelming".
My brother Elijah had orchestrated the show we were to play that evening, in the mostly abandoned home of a few friends. And as I expected, the crowd turned out to be about 50 % non-relatives/50% Jensen family, for which I received a lot of taunting (particularly at the presence of my "Auntie Kim"). To this I retort: "Don't hate me for having a support system." I stand by this statement.
The show felt like a success, if metered solely for me by my mother's enthusiastic response (she loved it, despite all of the lyrical double entendres and mentions of menstrual blood).
That night, in homage to sleeping over at parent's, we all had a pizza party in the aforementioned basement, watching "Roseanne" and trying our damndest not to wake the slumbering bear figure that is my father. The next morning we were sent on our way, through yet another cast of relatives, and a traditional pancake gorge.
Parenthetical Girls had some time off that day, due to a sort of "scheduling" mishap at the Paradox in Seattle, (frustrating). But this allowed for a much needed oil change/post office/sno cone stop, and the leisure of driving home for a one-night sabbatical in our own beds.
We reassembled the next afternoon, for what now seems like the piddly jaunt from Portland to Seattle, for our last minute replacement show at the Gallery 1412 (Thank you Jamie!), sponsored by ...Lost Five-O: "Sippin on Ener-Gy and Juice! Lost Five-O". (I'm sorry, I'm required.)
Much to our corporate sponsor's dismay, attendance was scant-- but Zac's mom was there, marking the first show she's ever attended. Who's got the support system now?! Boo yo.
Seattle was our last evening with Reindeer/Tiger Team, for which I was legitimately forlorn. Those guys. Are so nice, I didn't want them to leave. We chased their departing vehicle down the street a little way for affect, waving our arms like nobody's business.
Godspeed, RTT.
Godspeed.
The morning after, we reconvened from our separate sleeping residences to meet at the Marysville Walmart, from where we pressed on towards the uncharted unknown: British Columbia.
We were all a bit nervous about what might lie ahead of us at the Canadian border. Because it looks suspicious, you know. What with all of the musical instruments in tow... they might think you're crossing the border with intentions of making money (not allowed). Good thing this was not the case for us--we would be spending money in their fair province. Top dollar to record at a friend's studio, naturally. And with the truth on our side, we made it gracefully through the motive interrogation and full van search. "Phew."
It was worth all the apprehension shortly after crossing the border, when we were greeted by the stunning and futuristically industrious cityscape of Vancouver, WA.
Would you think I'm a tenderfoot if I told you I'd never been to Canada? Never mind, then.
All tour long, I had been mildly sketched out at the prospect of our Vancouver show, because all I knew was that we were playing in a "parking lot". Sketchy, right? Upon our arrival at the site though, my uneasiness evolved into mostly amusement. Stationed in an industrial area, just a ways down from all the working girls you could dream of, "Maslianskis" is one half personal residence/one half recording studio/one half barbeque/and one half lengthy oil-stained parking lot.
We were to play on the expansive porch that runs perpendicularly to this scene here.
But we'll come back later. For now, let's see what these crazy Canucks are up to.
For a proper taste, we were told (by a fellow American) to roam up and down the main drag of Commercial, which we did for a couple of hours, taking note of all the subtle differences our Northern neighbors have to offer. Of personal note: Granita style Americanoes, predominantly mid-90's garb, more calories per Coke, yellow grass in the park, exotic chips. That sort of thing.
Back at the venue, things had warmed up slightly in our absence. There was a barbeque, and keg beer of which the small crowd (and eventually us), were imbibing.
The crowd was nice, just distant enough for comfort, and seemingly "feeling it". Especially this guy, who stayed near my keyboard almost the entire time we were performing, communing and mumbling vague gratitude's.
We lived it up pretty hard after that (last night of our tour and all). Maybe I was even sort of dirty dancing. Made some friends.
Made some enemies too, I'm sure. And just so we're clear, Maslianskis was legitimately great.
The next morning, after a greasy breakfast at "the only American (who says I wanted American?) diner" in Vancouver, we met up with P:ano and his nice sister for an outing to the beach.
We hung out on this rock island.
The water was freezing, but everybody (except for Zac) jumped in and flipped around for a bit. We saw a sea lion just lazing around.
(Follow the path of Brenna's pointer finger, to the chameleonesque slug-like lump.)
I ate Canadian pre-packaged novelty ice cream, sunbathed, cut my toe open on a barnacle, fantasized about being Diana to Anne (disregarding that series took place on Prince Edward Island). Overall--beyond satisfying. I couldn't even hallucinate a nicer conclusion to our maiden voyage as a 4-piece. SS Parenthetical Girls.
(D. Horvitz, as usual!)
We were home again for good that night. Back to jobs, non-jobs, blow jobs, etc...
I want to go on tour again.
August 5, 2006
The Ramp Age
After an unfulfilling experience at the Fashion Square food court in Scottsdale (Johnny Rockets, anyone?), we proceeded on to Tucson.
We were supposed to play at 36 Chambers, but somewhere, someone got rubbed out, and we were double booked with three thrash punk bands. But don't worry, they were on top of it- instead of our intended engagement, we were relocated to a house party. And not just any house party..."The Ramp House" party, (dubbed so, on account of there being a skate ramp in the backyard). At this party the bathrooms are off limits, and the kids look very young but act fully-grown. Making out in bedrooms with bottles of hard alcohol bedside... Good Lord. Did I ever look like that?
The kid in the white t- was telling us about his relatively long history of drug and alcohol abuse. He seems at peace with it.
I think we all viewed this show as a challenge to overcome-- we had a disinterested and remarkably drunk crowd, 1 microphone, and very little space. Zac was in top form that evening, having a surplus of piss -n- vinegar, and 1.5 Blue Sparks in his system for good measure. One ruffian really wasn't feeling his hands-on stage bit, and took it upon himself to shove Zac around a bit. More man-handling occurred later, when a street thug bumped into Matt and was so angry about it, that he turned around and roughed him up by the shirt collar (glasses broke). I don't recall anybody threatening Brenna and I-- except I suppose, the guy who yelled in my direction: "You guys STILL suck!", as he was getting into what appeared to be his mother's SUV. But I should mention the very nice girl who soberly approached me afterward, asking if we could hug on account of her enjoying the show so much. Also, there was a respectable young man who came just to see us, so thank you Tucson. Zac recalls, and I tend to agree, that Tucson was the most important show of the tour. And oh yeah, turns out that nobody played 36 Chambers at all that night. Thrash punkers got relocated as well-- hope their time was as triumphant and self-reflective as ours.
News came in Tucson that our much-anticipated Pomona show had fallen through, and after taking our time departing, we arrived in Los Angeles very late the next night, having driven all day. Our tour guide David took us to a 24 hr. Jewish hot-spot called Canter's, where we mostly just took photos of the cathedralesque ceiling, but also managed to ingest, collectively, bland macaroni, potato latkes, and pesto pasta (those aren't Jewish foods, are they.)
The next day we mostly just spotted (and tried to get spotted) on Melrose Ave. (I honestly stand by my Nicki Hilton sighting.) Zac got a few "...is he famous?" glances, cause his glasses are so damn conspicuous. LA had me raise my voice to a stranger for the first time ever that day. "I WAS ON THE PHONE." I said to the man who was incessantly tapping my shoulder. Sorry.
And oh yeah, we played a show. The Il Corral was great, my 2nd favorite venue of the tour--in spite of the somewhat terrifying rope-swing moshing scene. Ritchey and Andrew were there, and here is what David and Matt bought with their small-time lottery winnings:
"photo by D. Horvitz."
Perhaps you're wondering why we played in Merced, CA? Well, maybe it's because nobody else but the Mainzer Theatre could promise us this:
And you did read the sign correctly—we headlined an Open Mic that night. And we are the "Parenthical Girls".
Highlights of the OM included: penis poetry comedian, a couple of amateur hip hop acts, Ren Faire lass reciting Lewis Carroll poetry (complete with British accent), and lastly, Matt—with his offbeat and refreshing routine, covering the intrinsic differences between men and women, rape victim sympathy, and a whimsical oration on Reindeer/Tiger Team's stage performance.
"...you see, it's just that men are much more reasonable than woman..."
RTT played my favorite set of theirs that night, but by the time they finished and we had set up, open mic crowd had all but disappeared. I discovered that it's one thing to have no crowd at a bar, but playing to a large, empty theatre is another thing entirely. We turned the strobe light on full blast.
Closing time approached, and the dreaded inevitable occurred... we had no place to sleep. Not even Jeff Bob could offer up floor space. So we did what any lost souls would do in our position—we snuck our party of 8 into one ratty motel room.
Greg and Eddy are ready for beddy. Oh my God.
The next day, we caught our second totally mediocre, if not awful, major motion picture of the tour. Defying standards to beat the heat.
And so on to Davis. I was bracing myself for a similar experience in this neighboring city, but you be might be glad to know that I can conclude this entry on a positive note.
We picnicked at the park.
And then, (face it guys), RTT sort of kicked our ass at soccer.
Outdoor kids..
..indoor kids.
That night, we played our show at a small cafe on the UC Davis campus, where the kids were very nice and seemed interested. Anyhow, compared to the night we'd had before, Davis felt like nothing short of Shangri-La.