Tagged: adamgnadetourdiary

So, I didn't think it was possible but I got a happy ending out of the Warped Tour. After all the mean bastards and horrible boyband screamo and Odyssean hard knocks, the NW dates of the tour were actually kind of decent. Of course the music was still bad (and sexist, homophobic, samey) but we sold some books and, most importantly, met some good people. And of course there was the Gorge. The fucking Gorge! If you haven't been out to the Gorge, make tracks fast. Do it. Now. Make an excuse. It was a good thing [...]

At the start of the summer, Adam Gnade emailed us asking if he could do a tour diary recap of his stint on the Warped Tour. We were a bit taken aback by the thought of Gnade trying to sell his books to kids who worship bands with names like A Devil Wears Prada and I Set My Friends on Fire, but we couldn't resist such a tempting concept. Here's the second installment of Gnade's photo tour diary, and, if you were curious, he is going back on tour for the Northwest dates. Dude's a sucker for punishment. -Ed. [...]

At the start of the summer, Adam Gnade emailed us asking if he could do a tour diary recap of his stint on the Warped Tour. We were a bit taken aback by the thought of Gnade trying to sell his books to kids who worship bands with names like A Devil Wears Prada and I Set My Friends on Fire, but we couldn't resist such a tempting concept. Here's the second installment of Gnade's photo tour diary, and, if you were curious, he is going back on tour for the Northwest dates. Dude's a sucker for punishment. -Ed. [...]

So I went on the Warped Tour last month as a book tour. It was ill-advised and I got nothing but trouble and came home hating everything. The tour was me with my books and Chris from Microcosm publishing and Deep Roots Animal Sanctuary. And it was 200,000,000 people a day who hated books, hated tables covered in books, and hated people who sit behind tables covered in books. Basically it was a shit business the whole way through. Here's what the pre-tour and first little bit looked like. It really doesn't show how [...]

I came around the corner and walked straight into a riot. Three feet from me two bouncers in black tie burst out of a club, dropped a small, wide-eyed dude onto the pavement then started stomping his ribs. Next to them a crying blonde in what looked like a prom dress was smashing the head of a passed-out Asian girl into the hood of a car. Up and down Fleet Street small clusters of people beat on each other; unfair four-on-one smack-downs; a stunned-looking guy stumbling down the middle of the street with blood streaming down his face; girl fights; [...]

The morning after our Oxford show we had breakfast next to the Carling Academy then drove out to the countryside to drop off Al's girlfriend Rosie at her family's farm. And this is what I'd wanted all along: rural England, pastoral calm, big heavy gray skies over dewy fields. We drove down the cobble streets and I stuck to the bus window, staring out at the stone cottages and the livestock in muddy pens. It was pure James Harriot vibe, pre-War vibe, old England, the real stuff. Sweetheart that she is, Rosie wanted to introduce me to [...]

What is it that makes memories? I want to say it's the big stuff; the drama and vivid moments of Real Living that brand their shit onto our bedrock. But sometimes it's the smaller things, the faint smell of car leather rather than the long ride to hell. I'm sure there were notable things in Bristol but I don't remember any of them. Now, Oxford, I remember almost everything. I remember the distinct quicksand sensation of sinking into the couches backstage at the Carling Academy after sound-check. I remember feeling strangely anxious when Foals' bus pulled away from the venue [...]

In Berlin as I type this. Two days ago Jamey and I took the train from Amsterdam across beautiful Dutch and German countryside. It was a long, warm, comfortable trip; seven hours of staring out the window at Shetland ponies in yards, tiny villas and farmhouses with snow-covered roofs, and miles of spindly black forest. (And here, as Americans, Jamey and I imagined slogging across bomb-scarred German farmland weighed down with packs and rifles while anti-aircraft guns coughed in the distance. Trench blues. Eternal Band of Brothers . After hours of lounging around a booth in the [...]

Dear Portland, Kingston was a great show, the kind that makes you glad you play music for a living. But shows that run well are never interesting to talk about. Let's move on. Norwich. Goddamn sea-monster of an after-show. Thanks to the loveliest promoter in England (Woody from Safetydance) and his lovely girlfriend (BetsyBecky), the show itself went fine but afterwards shit got a little weird. Good-weird, fun-weird, but weird nevertheless. It all began when Andrew from Youthmovies got the genius idea of building me a shot glass out of a banana [...]

In Amsterdam tonight. Just back from good times in the city of Utrecht (hot vegetable soup, Italian wine, and bread served as the bands played at the foot of a marble staircase while snow fell on the bricks outside. Goddamn.) Holland is a vision; beautiful, tall, blonde girls racing past on fixed-gear bikes, the sun-filtered rooms of the Anne Frank house, canals with green-black water and regal white swans. Best of all, our wonderful host Seineke, who did merch for us on the Scotland leg, and the big wild discussions and arguments we have around her kitchen table over wine, [...]

Got in a week early for the pre-tour. London. Snow on the ground. Frost on car windows. Crowds rushing past me in the underground all wrapped up for winter with packages under arm. First few days were quiet time in the big Crouch End flat shared by tourmate Al from Youthmovies, his brother James, Sim, who co-runs the label I'm on, and Ben from the wonderful Fuck Buttons. Most everybody was away working at ATP so I had a lotta time to sit around the lounge and fuck with some new songs. Caught Lightning Bolt at the Forum. [...]