The Honeydogs tour diary 1: Adam Levy's dream

Categories: Tour Diary
Honeydogs_Car_photo.JPG
Courtesy of the Honeydogs
Here's the vehicle packed with gear for the tour.

Minneapolis rockers the Honeydogs have just embarked on a tour out to the East Coast, and played in Chicago last night. In this tour diary, frontman Adam Levy is providing a running commentary from the road. This entry is about a pre-tour dream. 

One night a few weeks back, amidst prepping for the first Honeydogs tour in several years, I had a rather interesting dream. I was riding a motorcycle. I had chosen to ride the motorcycle solo, while the rest of the band was way ahead in another vehicle. Aware I would be driving alone along time, I worried about how would I catch up to the van, how I would travel across the country on a somewhat rickety cycle.


I did not have a helmet. Adding to the stressors, I was simultaneously trying to hold and read a notebook with indiscernible directions. Wind was blowing and rain started coming down in sheets, soaking the notebook. At this point, frightened, barely able to see, I accelerated into the paralyzing combination of fear and anticipation. I then let the notebook fly into the misty night behind me and simply drove on.

Who am I and why am I here? It's the question that most often crosses my mind as I hit any stage. Well, at least the second clause. I'm 47 years old and throwing myself into the vacuum of rock 'n' roll touring along with thousands of other bands, mostly half my age. Why do we do it? Why do we travel thousands of miles to play music, sometimes for just a small batch of serious fans, accidental tourists, or nearly empty rooms? The short answer is because we are more than a little insane. Are we presumptuous about wanting people to hear what we have to say, thinking it might be unique and worthy of praise? Or are we are just a little eager for human connection outside of the little social realms we create for ourselves?

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Photo by Stacy Schwartz
Levy with his daughter Ava at the recent They Might Be Giants show at the Fitzgerald Theater.
My lower back is aching. My hair's a little greyer, and some spots are appearing on my face that my ancestors experienced. These days, we're more likely to seek out a hot bath than a hip party with bevvies of girls at the end of a night, regardless of how well-attended or well-played the show was. I need a good book. Headphones, a notebook and a soy latte and I'm good. Thinking about the Chicago set list for the tonight's show and trying not to imagine what 60 feels like.

"There's no maps where we're going. There's books that've been written but they're not showing the rules we've been breaking, the paths we've been taking, the love we've forsaken--we're alone."  -- "Turned Around," from What Comes After, The Honeydogs


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