A Break in the Year

I don’t know how the rest of the band feels, but for me, HANL going on tour is like a break in the year.

I don’t mean “break” as in “vacation,” but rather—a split, a divide, a line which, after you cross, you are different somehow.

Each year has felt like this. Most of the year, I am working, taking care of the kids, cleaning the house, walking the dog, trying to work out, trying to eat well, trying to get enough sleep, to be a good husband, to manage my ego and fears and goals and somehow come out of it all in one piece.

There is practice leading up to tour, of course; little diversions where I spend two hours in the car each way driving to Boston, listening to podcasts, leaving messages for friends, and then we’re playing, and it’s fun to see everyone and catch up a bit and then hear what we sound like.

And then there are the days leading up to tour, where I start to worry about what I’m going to pack. How many shows is it again? How many pairs of pants do I need? Can I wear the same pants multiple days, and which venues have a shower or laundry? How many days off will we have, and can I do laundry then? Can I fit everything in a carry-on?

And then I hug my kids, and I kiss my wife, and I pet the dog, and then I get in the car and I start driving and then that’s it—suddenly, I’m on tour.

Which is a bit like being in space. You are in the world and out of the world. You are in the stream and flow of time and then out of it. What day is it? What time is it? You’re up much later than usual, your sleep is scattered, the hotel pillows start off very fluffy and when you wake up they are flatter than napkins, somehow, and your back hurts, and you are eating food at a gas station, or shoving bread in your mouth before sound check, and you are standing on stage waiting for your turn to soundcheck, and then you are off stage and in the green room looking for an outlet, and a kettle for the tea that helps your voice, and suddenly there is so much time, whereas before you were rushing. Things slow down. There are six hours to kill before you play. You stare at the ceiling, or try to make out the graffiti on the wall and figure out if any bands you like were also here, similarly in and out of time.

Things slow way down, and then it’s time to go on stage, and they speed way up. It comes and goes so quickly it’s hard to know what we make of it. Now you’re off stage again, in the green room again, but much sweatier, and you try to find something to drink before you go and say hi to the people that made all of this possible. Then you’re packing up the van or calling a cab and then you’re at the hotel and the pillows are fluffy again and you close your eyes but your heart is pounding.

What day is it? What time is it?

I always start off joking around, start off a bit jittery and excited, and get more and more quiet as time goes on. I stare out a lot of windows. I think about how big the world is—how there are so many little places, little scraps of reality, like the strange islands of grass and shrub and weeds in between highways, where I’ll never go, never touch, never really see no matter how hard I try. I notice how the buildings are a little different here, but still hold all the same kinds of people. The signs use a different font than I’m used to, but they all say the same things: Warning. Stop. Slow down.

When I come out of that, whatever that restless, neither-here-nor-there-ness is, I feel different. Familiar things feel fresh. Old things feel new. Did our street sign always look like that? I’ve never noticed that house before. The kids look taller, even though I know it’s only been a few weeks. I’m tired in a more honest way than I normally get.

This tour was, strangely, our first real “van” tour. HANL has had such a strange career that we mostly skipped the primary mode of transport for most touring musicians. I much prefer it to air travel, with all of its bureaucracy and sense of powerlessness. You can be just as late in a van, just as shit-out-of-luck, but at least you feel like you have some agency, even if it’s all an illusion.

We called the tour “Nothing Will Ever Go Wrong” mostly because we originally planned on playing Lords of Tresserhorn for the first time, though that ended up being scrapped—not forever, just for this year. As a result, we were cursed to have many, many things go wrong. At our very first show, some incorrect wiring fried Ian’s keyboard. PAs exploded and shut down dramatically whenever the sample from Cropsey came in. The van broke down, stranding us outside Eugene, Oregon, and prompting a very chaotic and yet effective 24-hour scramble to somehow get to our next show. We had three out of four flights get delayed while traveling between our last two shows. We shared many wry looks, many raised eyebrows. This is because of the tour name, isn’t it?

Still, the shows were incredible. Our audiences continue to show up and support beyond all expectations—I heard over and over again from people who said that it was the best concert they’d been to, the most important night of their lives, etc. They made it that way by bringing that kind of energy, a self-fulfilling prophecy of the best kind.

We had the honor of touring with some truly incredible musicians:

• Rhododendron, who blew us away every night with their intricate arrangements, original style, and incredible stage presence;
• Bosse-de-Nage, who continue to be some of the sickest musicians I’ve ever seen, absolutely pummeling every audience they set up in front of;
• Allison Lorenzen, who somehow got an entire crowd of people to do Nijinsky-inspired modern dance, whose charisma and careful songwriting were mesmerizing;
• Drowse, who continue to be one of the most interesting, impressive acts I’ve ever seen, bringing the “one-man” band thing to new heights with dramatic songwriting and fascinating instrumentation.

As always, we are so deeply, deeply grateful to everyone who makes the shows so special. As long as people care enough to show up, we will continue to do everything we can to make sure these shows are as good as they can possibly be.

Thank you.

Dan, Tim, Myke, Rich, Joe, Ian and Cody