The border… oh the border. Young Canadian border police are shuffling around, peeking under cars and playing some serious poker face games. I am a little too tired to make much eye contact anyway and slide down in my seat, taking a drag of my cigarette. The conversation of how weak our dollar has become comes to a halt as the inspector tells us to park our vehicle. I hear dogs and put my passport in my front pocket…. I had been staring at it trying to remember a memory for each page that had been stamped…. We left all of our beer in Buffalo, and the flask of scotch in my bag was pretty buried so we felt pretty confident crossing this time. We were directed to a waiting room. There were roughly 10 seats and we filed in and sat in the small room. The place was sort of like a principal’s office with a DMV vibe. The sound of a person typing, sighs and fidgeting was our reality for the next hour.

The couple in the waiting room spoke in a hushed tone about papers and gas mileage. I took a look at him and smiled. It was Ian MacKaye from FUGAZI/MINOR THREAT. There he sat… I looked at Eric and he winked at me. It then dawned on me their most famous song is “waiting room” I got a huge kick out of that. I just kept thinking how legendary this guy is and why. I’ve seen film of them on the steps of the Capitol in DC being so hardcore the crowd just went bananas (his is also the guy who refused to sell t-shirts, encouraging fans to make their own in participation) and staunchly held to their ultimate rule. No shows over five bucks EVER because in their eyes, kids that are supporting live music from DIY bands and don’t need to give promoters their hard earned cash. And we have all been to shows where the price was high, the band didn’t make money and the drinks were overpriced. FUGAZI challenged that and overcame it by a refusal to cooperate unless clubs were fair to their fans. They also were very vocal about telling young punk rockers the more they drank, did drugs and graffitied, he more society and clubs would hold it over their heads and belittle them as vagrants. They were merely in their teens and twenties themselves!

So there we were. I was swimming in thought. I bought my Gibson SG because I loved the sound of Fugazi and their SG attack…. I sadly broke mine in SF earlier on the tour…. it sits cracked from top to bottom in a tangle of metal strings in my guitar case….. Well Ian was handling it well…. they kept questioning him over and over and they got 3 hundred dollars out of him before we left. I wish the desk clerk knew who he was talking to, but alas, that’s what makes MacKaye appeal to all of us. He actually succeeded in remaining a guy from DC that was just like you and me and just happened to give a shit and stuck to his beliefs. . Ian MacKaye. You rule.

Toronto came with my body smashing into the back of a seat, face first. I was sleeping in the back when Nate jammed on the brakes and without even a hand to stop me my face whacked into the back of Toms seat, the force throwing me to the floor of the van. Since I was sleeping I was lying face down and felt Tommy’s hand on my back helping me up. That was enough of a shitty experience to keep me in a foul mood for the next 2 hours. That’s pretty much the best part of touring… approaching a skyline cueing up a song on the iPod and sizing it up a bit….”What are we in for tonight?” I sat in a huff I’m the backseat. And my bad luck was only beginning. I took a walk to shake it off. When I returned the band was in show mode setting up. It’s true Canadians are warm and hearty souls and we had them shouting and reciprocating right off the bat. The room was Bowery sized and held the single highest stage I have ever played on at around six feet high with padding all in front of it so kids don’t crack their heads open. We felt an obligation to really rock these Canadians because for a reason that is quite annoying the Montreal show was canceled. We have never had that happen, let alone a day before. The set started to take flight and first a cord crackled out on me. The sound man Ron in his big bayou hat leapt on stage to help…. We had to stop the show and regroup… Awkward moments passed as we heard the supportive Canadian crowd lend their clapping hands into our next song. HA!!! We were back I attacked it harder this time and swung around trying to get my mojo back and BAM…. I felt my string break… Dumbfounded, I kept singing and tried to modify my chords to avoid sour notes. I usually make eye contact with the guys in this instance to let them know to fill in the gap if I’m limping a bit. I refused because our moral was already compromised and I just decided to go it alone into the rest of the set .The next song began with a long broken string flapping of my telecaster. And I had started to depart into liftoff again when BAM, another one broke…. this one sidelining me in an obvious manner. I did what I could do and just sang my guts out without my guitar, the song coughing to a halt. In a sheet a sweat rolling off my face I bent over to grab Nate’s spare guitar (my Gibson broke in SF remember?) and we launched into another song. I felt my eyes close and my body square up to the mic ready to attack it again and BAM another string broke. Now it was personal some forces were trying to stop us and I defiantly kept my head up. Eric smiled at me and I smiled back. It was back alley, grittiness time. This, my friends is what rock and roll is…. fighting for it, never quitting and saying what you came to say…. My string streaming off the guitar and my body battered, we just elevated. I like these odds and thankfully I’m in a band that doesn’t strive for a perfect show. Passion was ours to have and we just said “Fuck it” and we just went nuts up there. I forgot there was even a crowd flailing, spitting and spinning. The song reached its end and we all squared up with Tom ready for our last gasp ending. Tom came down with his elbows at his ears with a crashing ending, his symbols tipping to the sides. Just then, I jumped on his bass drum and launched as high as I could in the air… with the already lofty stage height I felt Ten feet above the crowd and its very possible that it was ten feet now that I think of it. I came down fast and at a diagonal which threw me backwards of the stage. I put out a hand, held my guitar and plummeted. I laid on the hardwood floor looking up. My guitar cord ran from my abdomen all the way to the faraway stage like a distended umbilical cord. Pain started running through me in a bad way to my leg. The crowd was reacting and cheering. I just fell off the highest fucking stage I’ve ever set foot on and laid there in disbelief. I gingerly got to my feet. I climbed up the side wall and began hoisting myself back up to the stage when I felt it. My foot was broken. I sat with the feeling that one gets when the body is under its highest shock level. The hair sort of raises off the back of your neck… as I crawled back on stage I looked at Tom and said “I’m hurt man”. His smile melted away and the clapping started to wind down. It is still not certain if it is broke. A fracture happened, a tear and hyperextension? I just know that I tried to limp it off hobbling down the streets of Toronto and not wanting to look at the people that were coming up to congratulate us. This could be serious. We thought about the hospital but it seemed too early to me. I can move my toes. I am so pissed off at this and my band mates got ice and helped me into the hotel room. I love those guys. What a little family we are. I am giving it a day. I promise to play the East coast shows even if I have to do it on a stool. We are heading back to NYC to regroup and want to thank all the fans in Canada for supporting our brief visit. Such a diverse and beautiful country. We’d also like to thank Matt at SNOWBOARD CANADA for the insightful interview and the drinks. And get ready New England…. busted foot or not we are coming to play rock and roll for you all. We promise to keep you updated on this our first and increasingly amusing blog. To be continued.

Xo,

B

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