[Canadian Musician] Touring in the Post-Covid Unknown
As published in Canadian Musician
Read the original article here
The Bright and Dark Sides of Being an Artist Entrepreneur on the RoadBy: Alex Henry Foster
I’m finally back home after being away for what felt like forever at this point. Having spent most of the last 12 months on the road, touring with my band and traveling all over to set what’s ahead for me in 2023, I felt quite disoriented waking up in my own bed this morning, but even more so to do it in a completely quiet environment. It’s somehow kind of distressing to realize how easy it is to lose track of time after being on the road for that long… If it wasn’t for the display of bright colors from the trees surrounding my house, it would even be worse I suppose. In that state of controlled confusion, those great questions remain: “What have I done all that time?”, “What can I actually remember of it all?”, and “Where do I go from here?”. At least, I’m grateful my 2 dogs still recognize me, it’s a good starting point, right…?
Assuming that I’m getting a little accustomed to dealing with those strange post-tour sensations of distancing from reality and existential disruption, as I had the utmost privilege to tour from the early incarnation of my previous band Your Favorite Enemies back in 2007, I nonetheless realize how much work and dedication are required to go on road, from your personal involvement up to your collective engagement. And if it wasn’t complex enough already, the post-COVID era makes it particularly puzzling… At least, it has been for me.
In fact, over the last 15 years as an international touring artist, I have been in all sorts of situations: playing in tiny venues in front of an utterly enthusiastic crowd, headlining an Australian tour thinking we were on the verge of being the next big thing but playing in front of a handful of close friends every night (thank you guys for your indefectible support, by the way), touring all over mainland China as tourists carrying more musical instruments than some remote cities probably had access to at the time, doing a few modest European tours, headlining major festivals in Asia, being invited to support major acts — some of which became friends and others I would never listen to their music again. This is life on the road… but I think touring encapsulates life in a more vivid and generous way than we might think as we are in the center of the storm. No matter how cool or bad it is, it reveals a lot about ourselves, our expectations, dreams, and illusions, as much as its brutality exposes the level of inability we have every time we think we figured it all out…
I guess that starting over as a solo artist after 10 years fronting a band that went through all the different phases of development helps me a lot now. I’ve been through the initial “We are the best in the world”, “Wait until the world finds how great we are”, “We are pure and doing things our way, better be poor than slaves to the machines” to “It’s normal that others don’t get how special we are”, “we need to persevere like (enclose the name of your favorite band that never quite made it) and we’ll make it on the long run”, “those bands (enclose the name of the band you despised and actually made it) are sellouts”, “we’ll never compromise our principles and values”, which then transitioned to “Let’s focus on us and appreciate what we have: US”, “OK, last call for me, if nothing happens, I’ll quit. Again. I’m serious this time” until the unexpected opportunity bloomed from your perseverance and resilience: “Of course, we will support your band (usually a band you thought were sellouts and bad) on the road and we’ll do as you say”. And then you are on for another cycle of promises, expectations, disappointments, great exhilarations, creative rebirths, and renewed band vows. But underneath what is more of the emotional realm of our business resides the real dark side of touring and being in a traveling community: the deep work and the impact its pressure has on everything.
Assuming that I’m getting a little accustomed to dealing with those strange post-tour sensations of distancing from reality and existential disruption, as I had the utmost privilege to tour from the early incarnation of my previous band Your Favorite Enemies back in 2007, I nonetheless realize how much work and dedication are required to go on road, from your personal involvement up to your collective engagement. And if it wasn’t complex enough already, the post-COVID era makes it particularly puzzling… At least, it has been for me.
In fact, over the last 15 years as an international touring artist, I have been in all sorts of situations: playing in tiny venues in front of an utterly enthusiastic crowd, headlining an Australian tour thinking we were on the verge of being the next big thing but playing in front of a handful of close friends every night (thank you guys for your indefectible support, by the way), touring all over mainland China as tourists carrying more musical instruments than some remote cities probably had access to at the time, doing a few modest European tours, headlining major festivals in Asia, being invited to support major acts — some of which became friends and others I would never listen to their music again. This is life on the road… but I think touring encapsulates life in a more vivid and generous way than we might think as we are in the center of the storm. No matter how cool or bad it is, it reveals a lot about ourselves, our expectations, dreams, and illusions, as much as its brutality exposes the level of inability we have every time we think we figured it all out…
I guess that starting over as a solo artist after 10 years fronting a band that went through all the different phases of development helps me a lot now. I’ve been through the initial “We are the best in the world”, “Wait until the world finds how great we are”, “We are pure and doing things our way, better be poor than slaves to the machines” to “It’s normal that others don’t get how special we are”, “we need to persevere like (enclose the name of your favorite band that never quite made it) and we’ll make it on the long run”, “those bands (enclose the name of the band you despised and actually made it) are sellouts”, “we’ll never compromise our principles and values”, which then transitioned to “Let’s focus on us and appreciate what we have: US”, “OK, last call for me, if nothing happens, I’ll quit. Again. I’m serious this time” until the unexpected opportunity bloomed from your perseverance and resilience: “Of course, we will support your band (usually a band you thought were sellouts and bad) on the road and we’ll do as you say”. And then you are on for another cycle of promises, expectations, disappointments, great exhilarations, creative rebirths, and renewed band vows. But underneath what is more of the emotional realm of our business resides the real dark side of touring and being in a traveling community: the deep work and the impact its pressure has on everything.
So when I decided to accept to support The Pineapple Thief last October, right in the middle of Delta and Omicron variants (which is how I track time now), I felt equipped, both mentally and technically, to manage that wonderful opportunity to go back on the road after almost 2 years being grounded. Being independent artists comes with a lot of creative freedom and self-gratification, but not so much with budget, as no matter how great, special, and deserving to be famous you may think you are, it always goes back to budget. In our case, based on the road with the tight schedule the tour had, it meant it was only feasible with a tour bus. “YEAH! TOUR BUS! WE ARE ROCK STARS!” But it wasn’t possible. So we looked into vans, trailers and hotels, but it was crazy and dangerous to foresee ourselves being in vans for that tour. So we circled back, contacted whoever was still in business to try and make a deal. We were amongst the very first bands to get back on the road, so it gave us a bit of the upper hand. We managed to rent that saint grail type of tour bus at the prices of vans and hotels. “YEAH! WE MADE IT!” But then, we had forgotten, we were the first North American band to deal with the new and no-one-is-supposedly-in-charge-and-knows-anything-about-it Brexit. I didn’t receive a prize, only additional bills for our merch, carnet, and everything else… Thank you Boris Johnson, I hope you are enjoying your imposed retirement. So back to square one: transportation and accommodations. As we were about to decline the tour opportunity altogether, an old friend called me to say he had a friend of a friend, and so we finally had a bus… Old like my friend, but a bus nonetheless!
Those 5 weeks back on the road went pretty smoothly. Once that tour was over, I felt incredibly galvanized about… well, pretty much everything. I believed COVID was over, remembered all those people having a drink outside, venues filled with enthusiastic crowds. I was excited to start my first headline tour under my name, and the energy from the reopening world was simply electrifying and inspiring. Until lockdowns came back as the Omicron variant struck back. I knew I would have to wait some more but was not as enthusiastic regarding what was ahead as I had been a few months earlier — and I wasn’t wrong to be. Then came the Ukrainian war, fuel prices skyrocketed, and everyone bore deep stigmata of COVID-related PTSD. I knew it would be quite a journey for us to go back on the road, this time in 9-seater vans that we had to drive ourselves, sleeping in humble (very humble) hotels night after night… It all started with the plane tickets for Europe almost doubling, which was a serious issue as we were a lot including the musicians, crew members, and luggage. Gear, gear, gear, gear, and more gear… This is the only aspect of touring that I never accepted to downsize, as improvisation is at the center of what I do, and a specific instrument is usually only used in only one song — don’t do that, it looks cool, but I highly suggest you avoid that at any cost because there is a steep price to pay when you travel abroad. Amongst that ridiculous amount of gear cases were a serious amount of merch boxes as well. It all looked like we were our own traveling circus… Thank God we didn’t have to bring 2 drums and 5 amps, or should I say thank God for the support of our partners who endorse us. We were a moving disaster awaiting a tiny little bump on the road to devastatingly derail, all in the name of artistic integrity, of course. No one even thought about loading in and out several times a day… I was about to pray that I was in a 3-piece flute ensemble when I started facing stairs in all the venues and started to bitterly regret having written one guitar-based song in my life.
But truth be told, I always liked touring in a van, it just suits my emotional state to sleep in a bed every night, if only for a few hours, and to have a proper shower. It helps me transition from one day to another as well. Even though touring in summer — like I decided to do regardless of how much of a gamble it would be — means standing along major European festivals. But I was confident my people would come, and they did. What I hadn’t figured out beforehand was the fact that other than summer vacations and the numerous festivities options available, a UK train strike would start at the beginning of our UK leg, and that a European heatwave would hit. Germany was particularly hot; I could see steam come out of everybody night after night, to the point that I was more concerned for people suffocating than I was about passing out on stage — which almost happened in Berlin and Stuttgart before I had an absence on a festival stage in France. I had never drunk that much water in my life than during that tour… Suddenly, everyone was getting on our nerves in the packed van, every case made us hate the song it was dedicated to (almost). Then we learned about the ticket-owners-ghosting-shows phenomenon, where people who bought a ticket when your tour was first announced in 2020 lose track of the postponed and re-postponed shows… Add to this venues canceling shows because of COVID. But hopefully, there’s always a silver lining; we were able to be accommodated by friends who truly welcomed us with so much love and care, and it served as a necessary reset (and the food was fantastic as well).
Because another source of frustration on tour could be food: who’s eating what and when and why. Well, not so much about the why — if not for the questions of all the musicians and crew who asked me why we would try to cook in the bus instead of relying on our catering rider to make sure everyone would be happy… only to know on-site that no catering would be offered, and that we would have to go buy-outs. For us, this meant… Well, we’ll make it happen, right? Even if we go a little over budget, we all need to eat. Then shows started being canceled. No buy-outs, no merch, no nothing. Only a few more worries — ok, a lot more worries. And as if everything wasn’t complicated enough, we had to be tested for COVID almost every other day, PCR tests required for everyone. Another adventure to a local drugstore, and a lot more expenses. I can positively say that we should be shareholders in that COVID business only based on all the tests we did for that tour. But safety first, right? So it went on and on. Even though we had pretty much figured everything out beforehand, the tight preparation of which saved us from a terrible financial disaster afterward — that and all the sandwiches we ate (yes, a peanut butter sandwich is a meal. Well, not really, but you get the idea…) Everyone was really happy to remember their punk ethos came meal time. Or almost everyone.
The other important aspect of touring is how to address what I call the intangible elements: expectations, frictions, tiredness, homesickness, pre-tour commitment not being observed by some, and the vocal frustration of others. They are the most difficult aspects to deal with once on tour. That’s why experience and wisdom come into play here. I always have individual and collective meetings before getting on the road, to explain how I see the upcoming weeks, making sure everyone can contribute to the global success and intimate well-being of the tour. I find it capital to do so, the human factor is essential. If your focus point is to party, the others need to know. If you need free time, you need to voice it out clearly. If there are things you want or don’t want… Everything needs to be on the table because once we are “on”, and I experienced it over and over, it will become an issue. And on the road, every little thing can be seen as huge or potentially become the object of a relational rupture and fiasco. If being in a context of a band is challenging, it also is for so-called solo artists having to deal with musicians, technicians, and a tour manager — who, in my case, is also in the band (hey Jeff, hope you are recovering well from the last tour, buddy). So the more transparent you are with others, the less trouble you will have to deal with — or at least, you can always refer to that “let’s open our hearts together” meeting. It makes you feel like you are the boss, which is super uncomfortable when you are with your friends, but someone has to maintain the compass, otherwise, when relationships are challenged, the coherence of the concerts will be greatly affected and the most disastrous consequences of all will follow, as everything you had to endure in order to get on the road is based on that very moment on stage and communing with your people…
Another aspect of importance is discipline, a word I would never thought I would refer to when I first screamed “I am an antichrist! I am an anarchist” in my first high school band (sorry I betrayed my younger self and in such a public display). Anyhow… Discipline is a significant part of your well-being on the road, yet that is the most difficult to maintain as you are never truly in charge of your daily motion nor are you in complete fluidity with your best intention. So I’m trying to set those impossible conditions around those I know will be a daily repetition; venue arrival, load-in, set up, soundcheck, dinner, show time, load-out, shower, bus or van call, and in my case, I’m trying to add interviews, pre-show meet and greets, after-show merch signings and picture in the same motion, which is especially important for me, as I have the tendency to get anxious when I don’t have a semblance of structure. When I have, I can channel my energy and be more attentive to the pre-exhaustion signs my body and spirit will show me before collapsing. And since I hardly sleep in a tour bus (especially the old ones), I have to be extra careful to physically and mentally recharge, may it be having a coffee in the city, reading a few pages of a book, or simply going for a walk. That balance becomes a necessity for me, as I have to overlook the tour specifics to be my upbeat self during the tour promotional duties, abandon myself on stage, and share significant moments with the people who came communing with us that night.
That’s why establishing a tight yet flexible schedule is highly significant before we hit the road. Even if there’s always something unexpected happening, you have a pretty good idea of what the tour will be like, so everyone knows what has been programmed beyond the concerts themselves. Interviews, photo sessions, radio performances… Even though the rest of the musicians and crew members don’t have to be there, they aren’t left out wondering what’s going on, why I’m making coffee at 5:30 am in front of a radio station where I’m having a 5-minute on-air chat, which inevitably turns into me talking for an hour or so with everyone at the station or why I have to put make-up at 4 in the morning (feels like I need more and more with every passing day and also because being live on TV cannot be photoshopped afterward…). Everyone being aware of what’s going on allows a real sense of togetherness and a positive vibe feeds the collective purpose of the tour. I often rent rehearsal studios when we have a few successive days off, like we had due to COVID-related cancellations. Not only does it keep things fresh, positive, and creative, but it also offers a sense of camaraderie that forms bonds beyond the tasks and that grows friendships beyond the roles. And when there’s a real sense of tribe amongst us, musicians, techs, and crews, that is what makes it a rewarding experience. The contrary has its equal measure of frustrations.
Of all the organizational layers and pre-tour setups, I think my biggest personal deadlock remains the side-tour projects and engagements I am either involved in or looking to accomplish while being on the road — no wonder I missed my Canadian Musician deadline twice… Thank you Mike for your graceful heart! “Doing” has always been my Achilles’ heel, regardless of being on tour, at home, on vacation, or else. I need to be “on”, to be active somehow, which is a serious issue I have to deal with and a problematic affair for whoever acts as the tour manager, in occurrence Jeff (the band’s bass player and my partner in many other ventures). It usually goes like this: I want to do it all. On-the-road podcasts? YES. Daily tour blog entries? YES. Special social media on-the-road features? YES. Write new songs in the back of the bus? YES. A movie about the tour? YES. A commented photo book? YES. Until it becomes a burden and I start freaking out. Then it’s no longer yes, but a word that starts with f. So I’ve learned to balance my emotional need to be active and the projects that I really want to accomplish based on my touring reality and my capacity to accomplish those projects. My willingness and my desires are never the problems, it’s everything I can’t say no to… which is everything!
Therefore, if all those aforementioned details and structural facets of your preparation are highly important to ensure the best possible opportunity to appreciate your tour without losing your mind and preventing daily catastrophes, you need to keep on remembering that your ultimate goal is what is designed to be expressed and shared while you are on stage. It sounds simple, and it is simple, but when you are a DIY and entrepreneur artist, it is the first thing you tend to deprive yourself of, trust me. I have enough anecdotes and nonsense I had to deal with while being on tour to write a book about it and do a world tour of every comedy club on the planet. So the way I found to counter that faraway circus from distracting me is visualization. I will unplug from everything that could come between me and the moment meant to happen. The rest of the musicians have a mandatory one-hour unplugged moment as well. No worries, none of them suffered from missing a cat meme in the meantime. That period of quietness, away from the noise, allows me to align my spirit with the singularity of the country, the city, and the venue, which is indispensable to the type of improvisational and experimental music I do. Otherwise, if I let all those distractions get on to me, the creative moment I dearly long to commune with others will become sterile and lifeless and every single concert will be the same dull repetition, and I’ll turn into an entertainer I’ve seen and heard enough of. I still value the beautiful danger of being live, in the “now”, in such a way that it is no longer a show but a common experience where we are all welcome to define what we are willing to share over the course of that sonic uplift… And for me, this is an uplifting blessing…
That connection with the people might also explain the reason why I consider going to the merch table after every concert a precious gift. It is where the music and sounds are incarnated, through conversations, hugs, pictures, stories, laughs, cries… I understand some major acts are unable to do so, but too often I see upcoming artists snob that post-concert rendezvous. It’s not about selling another t-shirt or an additional vinyl. If you care — and I’m sure you do — you already crafted meaningful items aligned with the vision of your tour, so the merch table is a perfect rally point. Your presence makes it a little more magic for everyone, you included, as it’s all about making your music tangible, human, and accessible. It’s my favorite moment of the night, when you can meet new friends, and catch up with old ones. And more often than not, I’m the last one being kicked out of the venue. It’s a precious moment where time seems suspended for us all to maintain that unique connection a little longer, and that’s what makes all the usual touring misadventures and logistical headaches worth it.
Those 5 weeks back on the road went pretty smoothly. Once that tour was over, I felt incredibly galvanized about… well, pretty much everything. I believed COVID was over, remembered all those people having a drink outside, venues filled with enthusiastic crowds. I was excited to start my first headline tour under my name, and the energy from the reopening world was simply electrifying and inspiring. Until lockdowns came back as the Omicron variant struck back. I knew I would have to wait some more but was not as enthusiastic regarding what was ahead as I had been a few months earlier — and I wasn’t wrong to be. Then came the Ukrainian war, fuel prices skyrocketed, and everyone bore deep stigmata of COVID-related PTSD. I knew it would be quite a journey for us to go back on the road, this time in 9-seater vans that we had to drive ourselves, sleeping in humble (very humble) hotels night after night… It all started with the plane tickets for Europe almost doubling, which was a serious issue as we were a lot including the musicians, crew members, and luggage. Gear, gear, gear, gear, and more gear… This is the only aspect of touring that I never accepted to downsize, as improvisation is at the center of what I do, and a specific instrument is usually only used in only one song — don’t do that, it looks cool, but I highly suggest you avoid that at any cost because there is a steep price to pay when you travel abroad. Amongst that ridiculous amount of gear cases were a serious amount of merch boxes as well. It all looked like we were our own traveling circus… Thank God we didn’t have to bring 2 drums and 5 amps, or should I say thank God for the support of our partners who endorse us. We were a moving disaster awaiting a tiny little bump on the road to devastatingly derail, all in the name of artistic integrity, of course. No one even thought about loading in and out several times a day… I was about to pray that I was in a 3-piece flute ensemble when I started facing stairs in all the venues and started to bitterly regret having written one guitar-based song in my life.
But truth be told, I always liked touring in a van, it just suits my emotional state to sleep in a bed every night, if only for a few hours, and to have a proper shower. It helps me transition from one day to another as well. Even though touring in summer — like I decided to do regardless of how much of a gamble it would be — means standing along major European festivals. But I was confident my people would come, and they did. What I hadn’t figured out beforehand was the fact that other than summer vacations and the numerous festivities options available, a UK train strike would start at the beginning of our UK leg, and that a European heatwave would hit. Germany was particularly hot; I could see steam come out of everybody night after night, to the point that I was more concerned for people suffocating than I was about passing out on stage — which almost happened in Berlin and Stuttgart before I had an absence on a festival stage in France. I had never drunk that much water in my life than during that tour… Suddenly, everyone was getting on our nerves in the packed van, every case made us hate the song it was dedicated to (almost). Then we learned about the ticket-owners-ghosting-shows phenomenon, where people who bought a ticket when your tour was first announced in 2020 lose track of the postponed and re-postponed shows… Add to this venues canceling shows because of COVID. But hopefully, there’s always a silver lining; we were able to be accommodated by friends who truly welcomed us with so much love and care, and it served as a necessary reset (and the food was fantastic as well).
Because another source of frustration on tour could be food: who’s eating what and when and why. Well, not so much about the why — if not for the questions of all the musicians and crew who asked me why we would try to cook in the bus instead of relying on our catering rider to make sure everyone would be happy… only to know on-site that no catering would be offered, and that we would have to go buy-outs. For us, this meant… Well, we’ll make it happen, right? Even if we go a little over budget, we all need to eat. Then shows started being canceled. No buy-outs, no merch, no nothing. Only a few more worries — ok, a lot more worries. And as if everything wasn’t complicated enough, we had to be tested for COVID almost every other day, PCR tests required for everyone. Another adventure to a local drugstore, and a lot more expenses. I can positively say that we should be shareholders in that COVID business only based on all the tests we did for that tour. But safety first, right? So it went on and on. Even though we had pretty much figured everything out beforehand, the tight preparation of which saved us from a terrible financial disaster afterward — that and all the sandwiches we ate (yes, a peanut butter sandwich is a meal. Well, not really, but you get the idea…) Everyone was really happy to remember their punk ethos came meal time. Or almost everyone.
The other important aspect of touring is how to address what I call the intangible elements: expectations, frictions, tiredness, homesickness, pre-tour commitment not being observed by some, and the vocal frustration of others. They are the most difficult aspects to deal with once on tour. That’s why experience and wisdom come into play here. I always have individual and collective meetings before getting on the road, to explain how I see the upcoming weeks, making sure everyone can contribute to the global success and intimate well-being of the tour. I find it capital to do so, the human factor is essential. If your focus point is to party, the others need to know. If you need free time, you need to voice it out clearly. If there are things you want or don’t want… Everything needs to be on the table because once we are “on”, and I experienced it over and over, it will become an issue. And on the road, every little thing can be seen as huge or potentially become the object of a relational rupture and fiasco. If being in a context of a band is challenging, it also is for so-called solo artists having to deal with musicians, technicians, and a tour manager — who, in my case, is also in the band (hey Jeff, hope you are recovering well from the last tour, buddy). So the more transparent you are with others, the less trouble you will have to deal with — or at least, you can always refer to that “let’s open our hearts together” meeting. It makes you feel like you are the boss, which is super uncomfortable when you are with your friends, but someone has to maintain the compass, otherwise, when relationships are challenged, the coherence of the concerts will be greatly affected and the most disastrous consequences of all will follow, as everything you had to endure in order to get on the road is based on that very moment on stage and communing with your people…
Another aspect of importance is discipline, a word I would never thought I would refer to when I first screamed “I am an antichrist! I am an anarchist” in my first high school band (sorry I betrayed my younger self and in such a public display). Anyhow… Discipline is a significant part of your well-being on the road, yet that is the most difficult to maintain as you are never truly in charge of your daily motion nor are you in complete fluidity with your best intention. So I’m trying to set those impossible conditions around those I know will be a daily repetition; venue arrival, load-in, set up, soundcheck, dinner, show time, load-out, shower, bus or van call, and in my case, I’m trying to add interviews, pre-show meet and greets, after-show merch signings and picture in the same motion, which is especially important for me, as I have the tendency to get anxious when I don’t have a semblance of structure. When I have, I can channel my energy and be more attentive to the pre-exhaustion signs my body and spirit will show me before collapsing. And since I hardly sleep in a tour bus (especially the old ones), I have to be extra careful to physically and mentally recharge, may it be having a coffee in the city, reading a few pages of a book, or simply going for a walk. That balance becomes a necessity for me, as I have to overlook the tour specifics to be my upbeat self during the tour promotional duties, abandon myself on stage, and share significant moments with the people who came communing with us that night.
That’s why establishing a tight yet flexible schedule is highly significant before we hit the road. Even if there’s always something unexpected happening, you have a pretty good idea of what the tour will be like, so everyone knows what has been programmed beyond the concerts themselves. Interviews, photo sessions, radio performances… Even though the rest of the musicians and crew members don’t have to be there, they aren’t left out wondering what’s going on, why I’m making coffee at 5:30 am in front of a radio station where I’m having a 5-minute on-air chat, which inevitably turns into me talking for an hour or so with everyone at the station or why I have to put make-up at 4 in the morning (feels like I need more and more with every passing day and also because being live on TV cannot be photoshopped afterward…). Everyone being aware of what’s going on allows a real sense of togetherness and a positive vibe feeds the collective purpose of the tour. I often rent rehearsal studios when we have a few successive days off, like we had due to COVID-related cancellations. Not only does it keep things fresh, positive, and creative, but it also offers a sense of camaraderie that forms bonds beyond the tasks and that grows friendships beyond the roles. And when there’s a real sense of tribe amongst us, musicians, techs, and crews, that is what makes it a rewarding experience. The contrary has its equal measure of frustrations.
Of all the organizational layers and pre-tour setups, I think my biggest personal deadlock remains the side-tour projects and engagements I am either involved in or looking to accomplish while being on the road — no wonder I missed my Canadian Musician deadline twice… Thank you Mike for your graceful heart! “Doing” has always been my Achilles’ heel, regardless of being on tour, at home, on vacation, or else. I need to be “on”, to be active somehow, which is a serious issue I have to deal with and a problematic affair for whoever acts as the tour manager, in occurrence Jeff (the band’s bass player and my partner in many other ventures). It usually goes like this: I want to do it all. On-the-road podcasts? YES. Daily tour blog entries? YES. Special social media on-the-road features? YES. Write new songs in the back of the bus? YES. A movie about the tour? YES. A commented photo book? YES. Until it becomes a burden and I start freaking out. Then it’s no longer yes, but a word that starts with f. So I’ve learned to balance my emotional need to be active and the projects that I really want to accomplish based on my touring reality and my capacity to accomplish those projects. My willingness and my desires are never the problems, it’s everything I can’t say no to… which is everything!
Therefore, if all those aforementioned details and structural facets of your preparation are highly important to ensure the best possible opportunity to appreciate your tour without losing your mind and preventing daily catastrophes, you need to keep on remembering that your ultimate goal is what is designed to be expressed and shared while you are on stage. It sounds simple, and it is simple, but when you are a DIY and entrepreneur artist, it is the first thing you tend to deprive yourself of, trust me. I have enough anecdotes and nonsense I had to deal with while being on tour to write a book about it and do a world tour of every comedy club on the planet. So the way I found to counter that faraway circus from distracting me is visualization. I will unplug from everything that could come between me and the moment meant to happen. The rest of the musicians have a mandatory one-hour unplugged moment as well. No worries, none of them suffered from missing a cat meme in the meantime. That period of quietness, away from the noise, allows me to align my spirit with the singularity of the country, the city, and the venue, which is indispensable to the type of improvisational and experimental music I do. Otherwise, if I let all those distractions get on to me, the creative moment I dearly long to commune with others will become sterile and lifeless and every single concert will be the same dull repetition, and I’ll turn into an entertainer I’ve seen and heard enough of. I still value the beautiful danger of being live, in the “now”, in such a way that it is no longer a show but a common experience where we are all welcome to define what we are willing to share over the course of that sonic uplift… And for me, this is an uplifting blessing…
That connection with the people might also explain the reason why I consider going to the merch table after every concert a precious gift. It is where the music and sounds are incarnated, through conversations, hugs, pictures, stories, laughs, cries… I understand some major acts are unable to do so, but too often I see upcoming artists snob that post-concert rendezvous. It’s not about selling another t-shirt or an additional vinyl. If you care — and I’m sure you do — you already crafted meaningful items aligned with the vision of your tour, so the merch table is a perfect rally point. Your presence makes it a little more magic for everyone, you included, as it’s all about making your music tangible, human, and accessible. It’s my favorite moment of the night, when you can meet new friends, and catch up with old ones. And more often than not, I’m the last one being kicked out of the venue. It’s a precious moment where time seems suspended for us all to maintain that unique connection a little longer, and that’s what makes all the usual touring misadventures and logistical headaches worth it.
Granted, I knew that touring made sense at that time. It might sometimes be unreasonable for variety of factors, may it be financially hazardous, strategically unaligned with your creative journey, mentally too demanding, or whatever reasons. But when you are convinced that it is the perfect timing for you to embark on such a venture, I like to wonder what, besides the inspiring memories and the ongoing vibrations, could stretch the tour vividness just a little more, what could immortalize the emotional generosity we offered each other, how I could eternalize what has been shared with so much selflessness. It can be a live album, a recap video, a book… Whatever it might be, I believe it is fundamental to honor that last tour and everyone who made it significant by crafting something that will reflect how singular it has been. In my case, as I like to invite people to get involved, it is always something interactive and open; a book, with a limited-edition hardcover copy and its digital version, featuring never published pictures, anecdotes, and individual notes from me, the band members, and the fans with their pictures, along with a lathe-cut vinyl featuring one of the songs I played during the tour. But every idea, as long as it’s yours, remains the best representation of who you are and who your people are to you. And this is always right on.
In conclusion, no matter what you have to deal with — every touring act has its own share of funny and not that funny type of adventures and misadventures — the most important thing when you envision touring remains being honest with yourself, with your touring companions and those who care enough about to you and your music to spend their hard-earned money to share a moment with you. The rest, even if essential to consider and manage, has been extensively covered in several other publications… So I wanted to share a little glimpse of my experience as a touring artist in general and in my recent post-COVID wilderness in particular. Trust yourself, it’s a magnificent world out there… It is up to you to add some measure of your own colors to it all.
In conclusion, no matter what you have to deal with — every touring act has its own share of funny and not that funny type of adventures and misadventures — the most important thing when you envision touring remains being honest with yourself, with your touring companions and those who care enough about to you and your music to spend their hard-earned money to share a moment with you. The rest, even if essential to consider and manage, has been extensively covered in several other publications… So I wanted to share a little glimpse of my experience as a touring artist in general and in my recent post-COVID wilderness in particular. Trust yourself, it’s a magnificent world out there… It is up to you to add some measure of your own colors to it all.
Facebook
Twitter
WhatsApp