Adam Gnade: Five Point Plan on Becoming a Wild Animal (Kingston and Norwich, England)-- Local Cut

Adam Gnade: Five Point Plan on Becoming a Wild Animal (Kingston and Norwich, England)

December 19th, 2008 [5:59PM] Posted by: ADAM GNADE | 0 COMMENTS

Dear Portland,

Kingston was a great show, the kind that makes you glad you play music for a living. But shows that run well are never interesting to talk about. Let’s move on. Norwich. Goddamn sea-monster of an after-show.

Thanks to the loveliest promoter in England (Woody from Safetydance) and his lovely girlfriend (BetsyBecky), the show itself went fine but afterwards shit got a little weird. Good-weird, fun-weird, but weird nevertheless.

It all began when Andrew from Youthmovies got the genius idea of building me a shot glass out of a banana off the rider’s fruit tray.

Banana Shot glass Directions:

Note: It’s good to start with a banana that’s still a little green to ensure that the peal will be nice and tough. A browning banana might be okay for banana bread but it’ll make a weak shot glass.

1 Cut the banana in half, widthwise, but don’t cut it all the way. Leave a bit of peal on one side so you can “shut” the banana and make it look like it’s a full piece of fruit.

2 Hollow out one half of the banana (carefully) with a teaspoon, leaving a thin layer of banana meat along the edges to keep the peal rigid and add some tropical flavor to the vodka.

3 Pour vodka into the banana shot glass. Drink. Repeat many times until you feel like you can breathe underwater or chew through an oak tree.

4 Go on stage to do a song with Youthmovies after your set.

5 Take the final shot. Throw the banana shot glass at the ceiling with all your might. Forget about the banana shot glass until Andrew jumps off stage during the song to play guitar in the crowd and slips on the peal and winds up on his back. Total vaudeville. Wonderful.

After Youthmovies’ set we acquired a bottle of tequila and started loading out. (“Started” being the operative word.) A few minutes into it, Al from Youthmovies was beating me over the head with one of his band’s 12” records. Laughing to the point of tears, he and I had a contest to see who could carve the best shit into our arms with the broken pieces of vinyl. I made a nice AG. He went for something that looked like a tic-tac-toe grid or a barbecue grill. Neither of us won.

After that, Andrew found a roll of white duct tape and we decided it would be a good idea to wrap me up like a mummy and see if I could escape using nothing but my own god-given strength. Good idea? No. If you’re not a duct—and you probably aren’t—don’t wrap yourself up in duct tape.

From there we just beat each other up. Nothing special. Just a bunch of idiots laughing and attacking each other. This is why it’s good to have at least one girl on tour with you. Keeps ya honest. Eight guys together turns into a mindless frat party; no matter how “arty” your music is.

After all that joyful violence we pointed the bus to the coast and went to stay at Andrew’s father’s bed and breakfast, which is a damn fine place; dark-wood sitting rooms, stone hearth fireplaces, views of the North Sea, perfect little chateaus stocked with tea and expensive red wine, and long English countryside grass grounds to roam around.

Andrew’s dad is something else; a real Hemingway character. The captain of the Kenyan swim team a buncha years ago. Talks slightly Afrikaner. Big-hearted but definitely a tough guy, a man. He always puts us up—and puts up with us, which is valiant—and makes sure we’re sent off with a huge decadent orgy of a breakfast.

Could live and die in a place like that. Maybe if America does go tits up I’ll head over to Andrew’s dad’s and beg for a job and a place to sleep. There are worse ways to go.

I got up early that morning and went searching for Andrew’s James Joyce in the bus but got sidetracked by Henry Miller. (Wasn’t ready for Ulysses anyway; may never be.) Sat down with Plexus while breakfast was being prepared and shuddered and laughed through 50 pages of it until people began waking up. Breakfast was expansive, just vast. Red wine followed breakfast and vodka followed wine and suddenly we were in the bus, blasting a BBC classical music show, and heading towards Cambridge. Swashbuckling ahead. Spirits, high. We are alive and we are free.

I’ll see you at Christmas.

Love,
-Adam