No-Snitch Tour Diaries Part IV

As I build toward the release of Live At Royal Albert Hall (Preorder here) I’ll be sharing my tour journals from the 2025 tour with Father John Misty that concluded with the soon to be immortalized concert at Royal Albert Hall.

No one will be snitched on in these writings. These are about what it was like for me, a largely unknown, entirely independent artist to take on a massive EU/UK tour as the support act for a beloved artist.

I’m publishing these here for a few reasons. 1) It might be interesting to like 3-5% of my readers. 2) It should be interesting and helpful to anyone wondering what it takes to pull off a tour like this all by your lonesome. 3) Apparently artists are supposed to provide “content” and I don’t have it in me to get into Tik-Tok.

BERLIN - APRIL 6

We’ve got a ferry ride into Germany in the middle of the night. It’s mandatory that we get off the bus because if the ship starts to sink during the voyage the car deck gets sealed off. You WILL die. You’re in a tomb (the bus) within a tomb (the sealed off car deck). The guys have a song that they made up about this tomb within a tomb concept.

It’s an ungodly hour so we’re the only people on the boat. Some find a row of seats to crash out on. Others smoke on the dark, cold, windy deck. I’m always game for a suspicious meal so I head to the cafeteria with Jon and Dan. The cook doesn’t look happy to see us as he stands glaring at us over pounds of bacon and powdered eggs. I guess he didn’t expect anyone to eat his slop. Well, he’s met his match in me.

I order whatever is listed as “breakfast”. A pile of eggs and an excessive amount of bacon and sausage that looks like orange Play-Doh. It’s not appetizing by any means but I thrive in these situations. We put up a good fight but ultimately have to throw in the towel against the onslaught of protein.

I walk around and observe the dynamics at play amongst band and crew. I’ve become hyper-aware of this stuff as I grapple with my own self-consciousness. Sometimes it’s best to move through like a ghost. Be selective with your presence. Too much of any one flavor is a bad thing. The heaps of bacon and sausage we left at the bottom of the galley trash bin is a testament to this.

I’ve been hearing rave reviews about Berlin for a long time. Art world, clubbing, the Bowie/Iggy lore, the Lou Reed Berlin album that I’m not sure has anything to do with Berlin the city but I get the sense that if you purport to like one you purport to like the other. I like the album more than most do so we will see about the city.

I only have a few hours to explore. Copenhagen is great for a quick wander. Berlin seems to be more of a sprawl. I dump my stuff in the green room, eat quickly and head to the nearest city scooter. I’ve got a couple hours to find the magic. Soon it becomes pretty clear that I’m not finding it and head back. I picture the impression someone from Berlin might have of LA if they were to travel there and ride a scooter around Culver City for two hours. It’s why the world thinks that LA sucks. The sprawl safeguards it against casuals.

The plan I had cooked up to have more records shipped to the next show isn’t going to work out. This happened the last time I toured with Misty in the states. I kept selling out of vinyl. In the states it was easy enough to get more overnighted to me but this is not the case overseas. They tell me it’s a “good problem” but it only feels like money left on the table. Shout out to Misty fans for buying records.

I take a look at this venue and start to sweat a little bit. It’s a huge, industrial looking club with a couple of bars flanking each side of the room. The type of place where I expect to get absolutely cooked by crowd noise. The band assures me that German audiences have great decorum but it’s hard to imagine a quiet crowd in a room like this.

I meet the FOH guy, Pierre. I tell him what I tell all the others. DI for the guitar, a little reverb on the vocal, a lot of vocal in the monitor. He’s a young dude and seems to be excited to run sound for me. Misty travels with its own sound crew so my set is Pierre’s time to shine. When it comes to house sound engineers and doctors, I want them young and hungry with something to prove. I can’t with these crusty old heads who think they know it all. Later during the show I thank him from the stage. He takes it to heart. Afterward he tells me that no one ever does that.

The situation with dinner is that they give you a ticket and you exchange it for one of three menu items. A beef, a chicken or a vegetarian option. I choose beef. I like this system because it keeps me from overeating (I’m a dog at a buffet) and it feels like a home cooked meal. It’s comforting.

The smell in the green room is RANK. I know touring musicians can get a little musky but this is WILD. Turns out its the cheese plate on the table behind me.

Dave has a guitar in his hands that is in some alternate tuning. He’s making up emo pop and death metal tunes on the spot. One of the funniest things I’ve seen in a minute. Crazy talent on these dudes.

It’s time for my show. How the fuck do I get to the stage? I can’t walk through the crowd… I look for pathways. I go outside and walk along the side of the building. I open one of the doors. I’m behind the bar. I walk down further and open another door. Now I’m behind the stage but on the wrong side. How the fuck do I get to the other side of the stage where I’m supposed to enter?

I’ve got about two minutes to get over there. I open a door behind the stage to a bunch of hesher crew dudes sitting around smoking. Sorry to intrude, fellas. I guess I have no choice but to squeeze myself behind the stage between the wall and the backdrop curtain and strafe across the cables in hopes that I’ll be able to pop out on the other side. I make it over there with a minute to go. I still have no idea how I was meant to get over there and I have no recollection as to how I got back.

Alright, I’m about to get cooked, here goes nothing.

I play the whole show to pin drop silence and uproarious applause. Amazing show. Amazing crowd. I’m starting to feel invincible. (Foreshadowing hubris)

I’m feeling good so I hunt around back stage for a taste. The Misty band hardly drinks anymore so the options are slim. A lot of Coke Zero. A few NAs. Certainly no booze. I dig through the fridge and find a proper beer or three.

I head out to merch a little bit sauced. Some lady buying a tour poster for her son seems to be giving Erica a hard time. Bad vibes. The lady brings the poster she just bought over for me to sign. I begrudgingly scribble my name on it. If I could do it all over again I would have written something like ‘mind your manners’ but I need every fan I can get. In the future I promise to conduct myself with cutthroat, principled integrity if I ever get to a spot where I can spare a fan or two.

I’m dancing in the back of the room. This band rules. I’ve caught glimpses of their show but I’m usually listening to it down a hall and through a wall as I put a translucent piece of salami and a slice of sweaty cheese on a piece of bread. This is the first time I’ve actually had the audience perspective.

My friend Pat from childhood who now lives in Berlin comes up to me. So cool to see him out here. I love seeing old friends in faraway places. He buys two shirts. I feel compelled to give him the hometown Seattle discount and offer him two for one but he says “nah fuck that - support the artist”. Some people get it. Others don’t.

We break this one down pretty quickly and head out to the bus. I always imagined that the people hanging outside the door an hour or so after the show are beautiful women with spiral perms in leather jackets and leopard print skirts that you have to fight off with a stick as you make your way to the bus. More likely it’s some dude in his thirties with blacked out eyes who can’t stop giggling. That’s the variety waiting for us in Berlin.

He follows us to the bus and hovers nearby staring as we stand outside. Shortly after Josh exits. Paul is at his side to take the knife wound if need be. The guy trots alongside and follows him as they move briskly toward us. He seems a little aggressive.

Finally security tells the dude that he can’t be in the parking lot. He walks to the other side of the fence and stares at us as the smokers smoke. It’s a little unsettling. When we get back on the bus Chris and Dan grab guitars and accompany me as I make up a song called “Boundary Boy”. I don’t know… I’m sure that he’s a nice guy with a mother who loves him.

I’ve been riding high for a few days now. It’s only a matter of time before things slow down and I crash out mentally. The bus pulls out of the parking lot. We’ve got a day off in Paris tomorrow…