So a while back Eric Grandy pitched the idea of riding along with the Bow+Arrow, to document their west coast tour and the current state of the DIY scene in general. He sees (and correct me if I’m wrong Eric,) Bow+Arrow as one of a dying breed: musicians who place equal importance on DIY ethics and idealism as they do on tautly wound anthems indebted to the likes of Fugazi, Drive Like Jehu, Cap’n Jazz and the angular stutter-stop post-hardcore of the ’90s. Case in point: the Bow+Arrow recently turned down an offer declined interest from Subpop founder Jonathan Poneman’s boutique label, Hardly Art— based upon the fact that Hardly Art is distributed by ADA, which is partly owned by major labels. (This is the point where every other band that feels indebted to DC’s “revolution summer” gets to post about their relevance and how great they are and how it’s bullshit that Bow+Arrow turned down this offer.)

But Grandy didn’t end up making it on tour and I’m riding along for the first week playing my own solo material. I don’t know how much I’ll get into the last great DIY hope as a subject matter, but I will be recounting the various trips and trials we encounter on our way down the west coast.

Currently we're on our way to play a show at a grocery store in Portland. We played Olympia last night to a dank and crowded basement. Due to last-minute repairs to the van we showed up extremely late. Someone at the house gave us shitty directions so we ended up in Lacey for 10 minutes before we called another Oly acquaintance and turned around wherupon we were pulled over by an unmarked police car. After graciously explaining why we didn't have tabs on our vehicle (the van had been recently purchased and we were missed getting the title that day by 10 minutes;) the kind-hearted police officer drove off in his sporty Dodge Charger. (Look for the Dodge Charger in this summer's blockbuster Transformers film.)

Right before our respective sets, some extremely drunk ladies stunk up the already musty basement with the smoke of the sweet leaf. Drunk and high, they proceed to poke the asses of the guys standing in front of them and alternately falling over each other and trying to sleep in the middle of bands' sets.

Making money on the road is especially important with high gas prices and driving in a van with piss-poor fuel economy. By the end of the evening, all our petit petty capitalist hopes were dashed as no one bought a single piece of merch, and the show's organizers only managed to collect $19 and loose change for the touring acts.

At the end of the night we ended up staying with some friends in a black house that reminded me of the black lodge from Twin Peaks sans sweet jazz music. Upon entering we were greeted with congealed ramen, cheap beer, and the disturbing green glow of a bottle of Midori. One of us accidentally stumbled into another bedroom catching one of the residents in flagrante delicto, after which one of the house's residents went to drunkenly investigate leading the naked renter to (rightfully) spew a drunken tirade about the MILLIONS (actually hundreds) of dollars she spent to have a special place and that it was cold and that she couldn't do laundry and that this was a total bullshit system. Total bullshit system, indeed.