Tour Blog #6

It's amazing how fast it changes. One day, a nine-hour road trip seems like a bit of a chore. Then, after two weeks of touring, it’s just another day on the job, hardly noticeable at all.

Once it seemed like setting up the stage and getting through sound check would never end; now I blink my eyes and we’re playing Paper Heart.

Albert Einstein once said that music is what gave him inspiration for his theory of relativity. When pressed, I’m sure he would’ve clarified that he was on a music tour, where time becomes a completely unreliable constant when compared to anything. At sound check, Mary Song moves right along at its normal pace, but once 500 people pack the room and scream their heads off at the sight of your band walking on the stage, the click track seems lethargic.

Old Rock House, St. Louis

But you adapt. You get used to it. You adjust what you need to adjust and you bring the business to the people. You learn how to set up, check, perform, and tear down a show on only a tidbit of sleep because while you were busy acclimating to hours and hours of time spent on the road, you forgot how to nap in a moving vehicle. Well, shucks. I guess that’s why we brought the DVD player and the Nook, after all.

And we’ve been forced to acclimate to another kind of constant: the sellout. Phoenix. Chicago. Nashville. DC. And while we might get used to it, we never get tired of it. 

Sold out in Cook County.

The blessings continue to fall on this tour like a benevolent torrent. We have officially driven from one coast of this continent to the other playing music for thousands of fans, all the while protected and provided for: through sickness, exhaustion, and the unavoidable diagnosis of First Time Out. The only thing better than doing what you love is being supported while you do it, and perhaps the largest part of this entire experience is the impression that somebody up there is taking serious care of us every step of the way.

We could never be worthy.

And when did I miss the memo about naming all of our grocery stores in ways that sound like they’re being made fun of by 2^nd graders on a playground? Harris Teeter. Menards. Piggly Wiggly. I cannot possibly be the only one who finds the following conversation hilarious:

“Honey bunches, we’re out of sugar. Can you head on down to the Teeter to get some more?”

Come on, America. We can do better.