Wavves cancel Europe tour

Categories: Music News
Thumbnail image for wavvess500.jpg
Another day, another posting of this Wavves promo photo.

Turns out Wavves probably was better off in his West Coast basement smoking weed and recording little lo-fi punk odes into a four track-- the road has not taken with him. As was evidenced by his whining jag last week, Nathan Williams obviously doesn't have the temperament or constitution to be a rock star.Turns out a little Xanax, a little beer, and four months of touring have proven to be Wavves undoing.

Well, best to find that out now before too much gets invested in the dour, marginally talented hipster. Not only did he humiliate himself at the Primavera Festival, but, in the ensuing shit storm, he canceled his Europe tour in its entirety to get his head together.


Wavves gets brought to a simmer at the Primavera Festival in Barcelona.

But let's break that down just a bit. Xanax, beer, and four months on the road, and we get the hissy fit shown above? Good lord. It's a good thing Wavves didn't enjoy any actual fame-- we'd shudder to think of what might have become of Mr. Williams had he been put on, say a Dillinger 4 sort of regimen (and that's Vs. God era D4 we're talking about).

As for the "meltdown" itself-- this is the O.J.-in-a-white-Bronco of rock star meltdowns: a low speed, low impact, mildly awkward tantrum that could only be called a "meltdown" when set against the backdrop of an unspeakably dreary, polite, well-mannered rock environment.

We're not going to put on our rose colored glassses and pine for the days of the seemingly indestructible rock star. Richards, Tommy Lee, Marilyn Manson-- we're aware of your contributions, and we slow clap you for them. But being a rock and roll musician is, ultimately, taxing work. It's hard on the liver and the brain and the body, whatever Dire Straits would have you believe. Say what you want about the romanticized indulgences of Zepplin, the Who, and the Stones-- at least they survived 8 month tours and the requisite gallons of whiskey and Percoset and are still on-stage.

Well, the surviving members, anyway.

We feel for the lad, in the same way you feel for the underage kid with a fake I.D. woozily puking outside the Turf Club. We've all bitten off more than we can chew. We've all taken that fateful "sip-too-far" off a last call gin and tonic.

But we've also made our own beds numerous times and, no matter how we tried to weasel out of it, have been forced to sleep in them. Hopefully, the next time Williams' name pops up, it's with more grown-up, nuanced music and a thicker hide.


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