I'd forgotten we were Rockstars (Day 20)

GD's "I'm a super cool musician" face

                Another temperate morning inside the tent. After breaking our fast on beans and eggs, we needed to get down to business. Due bad luck and our inexperience in the world of touring, we hadn't played a show in a week. I had even forgotten the reason why we were on the road: to play rock and roll. But that night we had a paying gig in Brandon, Manitoba, which the tragically hip named “the Paris of the Prairies.” I was amped. We practiced the morning away to rock tight that night. Would the heart of the wheat empire be ready for this group of rockers far from home?

It's getting flatter

                We embarked that afternoon. It was our first drive on the Prairies. The novelty lasted about five minutes. At least Northern Ontario had big jagged rocks and lake side views; the Prairies were flat as far as the eye could see. To pass the time, I contemplated forms of land usage; I was asleep ten minutes later. So was everyone else.

                I awoke to Greg swerving the van on the ribbed shoulder to wake us up wordlessly. We had arrived in Brandon. It was the weekend of Brandon folk fest and we were unable to find a campsite, so we found the cheapest motel and told management only two of us were sleeping there. We supped on tuna sandwiches and got ready. The photo Greg to sent to the venue was from a show at Trois Minots when we wore suits and put pomade in our hair. We decided  we needed to live up to this image. We put on our finest slacks, made our hair pretty, and rolled out to the bar.  

5 guys in one motel room was surprisngly comfortable

                The venue was called the Double Decker Tavern, an English pub that derives its name from having two floors. As I went back to grab stuff from the van, I discovered a large group of drunken females. They were part of a bachelorette party and were heading to the venue. They swarmed me upon discovering I was with the band. They even asked me to pose in a photo suggestively pressing one of them on the van; then, I signed her breast. It doesn’t get more rock and roll than this. Was this going to be the sex filled night that the Argyles have been dreaming of?

They had trouble making it  to the upper deck

Dowling cleans up nice

                Unfortunately, they departed just after Greg began his acoustic set. It was not to be. A skeleton crowd remained. But we went all out just the same and people were getting into it. One couple shifted to the other side of the table so they could watch us play. Most clapped at the end of every song. After our first set, the couple bought us a round of drinks and a man from Montreal bought a CD. 

                The bands pressed on from such a positive reception. Martin played his set with Greg and Matt filling in as the rhythm section. There was some turnover in the crowd and by the start of the Argyles second set, we ended playing for one man and the barmaids with a few onlookers further back. But they seemed to enjoy it anyways. At the end of our final, this man bought us another round. We talked to him and the gesture was driven by a misplaced sense of pity out of playing for an empty bar. He had been a musician once as well. But we didn’t mind: the set had gone well; we won over locals; and, if that wasn’t good enough, put $200 worth of gas in the van. A successful evening by my counts. I think we've got that Prairie sound down.

Recording with Prairie Dogs and Mother Nature (Day 19)

Prairie dogs are bold creatures

               This was the rest day the Argyles had been lacking since Toronto. Everyday had involved some of these activities: driving, performing, loading up the van, partying, staying up really late, and waking up too early because of a hot tent. But that morning we started the day right. The tent was pitched beneath a tree, giving us relief from the prairie sun. It was also leisurely as we munched on eggs, beans, and instant coffee followed by jamming, reading, and more napping. The batteries were slowly recharging. 

He is getting to Matt

                GD continued his hobby of antagonizing Matt. In a childish fashion, GD would read out paragraphs  of a history book Matt was enjoying and make fun of the content. He got under Matt’s skin soon enough. But then Matt had an epiphany: he used to do the same thing to his little sister Elizabeth. The snark came from the other mouth; this time, it didn’t sound as sweet. Guilt washed over his face. Elizabeth, he lamented, if only I had known; I would never have got my kicks at the expense of another; never have treated you like a source of amusement rather than as a good brother should. My God, what have I done?

                We were driving the van into town to go to a coffee shop. After backing onto the road, I  honked at Martin as a joke.  I glanced in my mirror to look at Martin’s still startled face. But instead, he was chasing after us. Was he planning on giving me a good shouting after my reckless honking? I accelerated. He started waving his hands in a fury. Go ahead and wave your hands, I thought, you will never catch up with the van. Then I heard a large crash in the back. Did he just throw a rock at us? I stepped out of the van and walked to the van. One back door was open. 5 meters behind, Greg’s PA. which had bought the extra big van just to drive home, lay on the road in pieces. 

Recording under a tree

                Later in the afternoon, Greg began to set up his recording equipment to lay down a new track at the campsite. Thinking I had an hour before we would start, I went for a walk on the bikepath to find the swimming hole. After taking a dip and returning to the path, I stumbled upon what I believed to be a shortcut. But shortly after, I realized I was on a different bikepath and going the opposite way from our campsite. 30 minutes later I arrived at the beach, which I knew to be far from the site. I took to the road and hoped it would get me back. Fortunately, I was able to confirm I was on the right path by a car full of bros who I directed to the beach. Upon arriving at the campsite, the pulses of the base drums directed me home. I was gone for two hours. I missed my chance to be on the new track. 

                They were recording under a tree next to the tent. The new song, written and sung by Matt Dowling, sounded good. He spent a year working it out. GD and Greg also sounded solid, given that they had never played the song before. Indeed, each rendition got tighter and tighter. Greg, always the perfectionist, demanded that they do more. 

Prairie lightning is cool

                There was some hope of us playing a show in a small town outside of Winnipeg, but it didn’t work out; so, we prepared to spend the evening in. We cooked a dinner of porkchop sandwiches, drank whisky, and played Civilization 5 under the stars. Flashes of light illuminated the sky; these Prairie thunder storms didn’t fail to impress. After polishing off the rest of the bottle, the Argyles and Martin Bradstreet retired to the tent with spirits high. The shows would come soon enough.

Running on Empty (Day 18)

There was nothing to look at

              I woke up confused. Why was I so cool, comfortable, and well rested compared to my usual mornings? Then it hit me: I was sleeping in the van. Head pounding, I made my way to Abstract’s house where I discovered it was 1pm. I also found 2 other Argyles and Martin with empty  expressions and bloodshot eyes. The tent had gotten super hot and they had been unable to sleep past 10.

The only exception was Matt Dowling.  But shortly after, Matt stumbled into the house in a zombie like state. Sure his eyes were open and he could respond to instructions, but by other important definitions he was still asleep. Indeed, he was noticeably more fatigue over the past few days and would fall asleep throughout the day. The rappers even nicknamed him houseplant.

Loadin up on some platfood

                We also discovered that we could no longer stay at Abstracts. He was going to join Relic, Rash, and Fresh Kils for the final leg of their tour. Our time with the rappers was over. We lined up to say our goodbyes. The handshakes were awkward. I had gone in for a traditional one with Relic whereas he did a rap one. With Abstract, I had misstep during the fist pound. But it didn’t matter. Despite all of our differences, we had all become friends.

Matt asleep. Again.

                I had enjoyed my time with them. I felt like I understood them as people much better than I had before. At first, I had dismissed their swagger as arrogance and their diction as unintelligent. But I was wrong: they operate in another cultural universe with different expectations of behavior; one which we could learn form. The Argyles could use more swagger. 

This was just what we needed

             But having depleted our energy reserves, we were relieved to be  camping in the countryside instead of camping in Abstract's backyard. After a few chores, we spent the day at ease, with naps a plenty and a delicious chili dinner to top it. Yet it wasn’t all peace and quiet: Matt and GD were sparring over something I can’t even remember. They have internalized the fight narrative I laid out for them.

Spread the Rash (Day 17)

Rash working the geriatric ward

                 At 7pm we rolled into Assiniboine Park, Winnipeg’s version of Park Lafontaine. It was not the mere desire to stroll that we went, but to see our new rapper friends perform at the park’s outdoor venue. Approaching the stage, we noticed a sea of lawn chairs and greyed heads before us. This was not the environment I expected for a rap concert. 

Some had trouble staying awake

                As Rash took to the stage, I grew fearful for him. One poorly placed f-bomb would cause outrage and moral panic before this sort of crowd. But he did well. He ventured out into the crowd and performed other onstage antics to the amusement of many. Some expressed disapproval, but others were grooving to the beats and even throwing their hands in the air. His last song, "Cocaine Cowboy", was a risky choice, but the message at its heart resonated well with the crowd. It was about how his sister had dated a coke head. The song helped me understand the inner workings of Rash, a man I have found easy to misinterpret. It was also remarkable to hear him express his feelings so coherently, something that rap allows him to do. After he was finished, he instructed the audience to check out his tumblr which had the unfortunate title “spread the rash.” 

Abstract Artform rockin' and rapping

Fresh Kills winning over the next generation

                Relic, Fresh Kils, and Abstract Artform all performed sets that did well given the crowd. Their lyrical content was appropriate: their raps emphasized regional and national pride as well as their country roots. Indeed, Abstract confided in the crowd that “I may look really hip hop, but I’m from a small town in Manitoba. I’m just like you.” As they performed, I wondered if hip hop could ever do well in this demographic.  Given their response, it could. But performing for such an audience would deny these rappers the ability to express themselves and talk about their lives which don’t conform to any naive middle class ideals.  

Relic's rapping won me over to the genre

                We followed the rappers to their next and more appropriately located show. It was at a bar in the bottom of a youth hostel called Lopo. This was the first real hip hop show I had ever been to. As the crowd arrived, I got a better sense of the scene. People wore a mixture of ghetto duds and college hipster outfits except for one guy who resembled Jesus. The rappers seemed in their element this time. The intimate nature of hip hop shows impressed me the most. It often felt like they were rapping to me. Their energy was also infectious. I had been feeling fatigued all day; however, by the end of the show, I was ready to seize the coming night. 

Working on my hip hop face

Outside with Abstract, Rash, and Relic

                We all returned to Abstract’s pad, well equipped with beer to fuel mayhem for the coming evening. It started off slow enough, mingling with the rappers and their posse, discussing subjects such as music and their children. Rash even gathered us all together for some real talk, during which he called Matt Dowling—with no desire to cause offense—“the least hip hop guy he had ever met.”

                Naturally, things started to get out of hand. Rash had found himself in the company of the girl from the previous evening.  They did not waste any time,  retreating to the recording studio, which was doubling as his bedroom. This was much to the displeasure of one of her friends, a small but fiery girl with a thick Manitoban accent. Motivated out of loyalty to her friend and some sense of a woman’s moral imperative, she decided to put a stop to it. 

                She descended on the bedroom with a fury and put an end to their fun. It was unclear if this was during or pre-intercourse. The muffled sounds of fighting echoed from the room. Although I couldn’t see, witnesses reported that she punched Rash, over six feet and 200 pounds, in the face repeatedly. She emerged out of the room with her friend, bra in hand, who could only mutter “fuck my life” as everyone looked on. 

This guy looks like Spencer.

                At this point it was 4 am. Given that it was a Tuesday night, Abstract decided it was time to sleep. The four of us hung out on the porch for a bit while GD was lying down in the tent. Then Matt decided it was time to expel some fluids from his stomach. When he was finished, he returned into the tent. GD was concerned that he had kneeled in dog shit which was littered throughout the backyard. Matt went in the tent anyways. 

I could hear the muffled sounds of the struggle that ensued. It appears that Matt had GD in some sort of headlock: “Do you like that?” he taunted. Silence ensued for a few seconds afterwards. Suddenly, Matt flew out of the tent like projectile vomit onto the concrete pad. He had loosened his headlock out of pity and GD had seized the occasion. I’m not sure how the rest was settled, but Matt was back in the tent shortly after.

Winnipeg Rappers make us look like Beta Males (Day 16)

Tired and cold

               Touring life has caught up withme. From a mixture of a lack of sleep—the fierce prairie winds had been shaking the tent all night—and  proper nutrition, I felt depleted. It was like when I went on canoe trips: there was always that point when I began to wish it would just end. But at least we were out of the bush and back to civilization. We arrived in Winnipeg that morning where we did some site seeing and much needed eating out. 

Chowing down on some tasty Ukrainian food

                We had been invited to camp out in a backyard in the city, but this was no ordinary acquaintance. He was rap record producer. Martin had contacted him over the internet looking for shows and instead he invited us to stay. Given my cranky-old-man disdain for rap music and culture, this experience was going to put me outside of my comfort zone. 

                Inside the house were four white males in their 30’s. The only person of colour was a young black female intern from the university of Lethbridge. Is this the modern face of Canadian rap ? We met the owner, named Shea, but hereafter referred to as Abstract. He wore low rise pants, a flat rimmed cap with the sticker still on it, and emphasized his ‘H’s when he laughed. Another rapper, named Matt, but hereafter referred to as Rash, commented on the lack of vaginas, as if we were expected to roll in with another carful of hoes.

For some reason, hotels double as beer stores here

                Then there was Daryll, the only rocker of the group. He was happy because our presence no longer made him alone in his musical inclinations. He took us about the neighbourhood as we searched for meat and beer, talking with us about his music career and rock in general. He referred to a hipster band he knew from Montreal. Did he think we were hipsters? Indeed, wearing my plaid shirt and stylish blue shorts that day, I looked a regular Win Butler. 

So much meat!

Jamming, rapper style

                We returned to make a delicious meat dinner, a pleasant change from a diet of pasta and peanut butter sandwiches. Meanwhile, the rappers threw down some freestyle for us while Greg played along on the violin. Although I knew little about hip-hop, these guys seemed pretty legit. Soonafter, the others had departed for the bar, but we were going to stay behind and try some recording in the studio. Rash, in a state of early inebriation, was somehow left behind. Just as he left to join them, Rash boasted: “Yo fuck. I’m going to come back with seventeen vaginas,” to which I responded, “Well that’s good because there are five penises here.” Failing to understand the tongue and cheek nature of the comment, he began counting, “1,2,3,4,5, 10. There are 10 penises here." He then went on to state:  "Yo if I don’t come back with a pussy later, I’m going to shoot myself.” 

The crew at the bar

                We arrived at the bar an hour or so later where the rappers had assembled. Rash, fortunately, was succeeding in his goal, cuddling and making out with a blond female on a chair. Surveying the group, I noticed that these were not the kind of girls I was used to hanging out with, not that they paid us much mind anyways. I spent the time thinking what to make of this group of people. Then Rash and the girl got up to leave. Her friends expressed concern: “Where is he taking her?” She was so drunk she could barely walk. Soon enough, they chased after them realizing his base intentions. Indeed, earlier in the night, Rash commented to Abstract, “Yo. I’m going to get some pussy tonight!” within an earshot of all her friends.

Rash was doing push-ups in the middle of the road

Abstract was awesome

                The posse rolled back to house at 2. It was a long walk given the state of inebriation of the much of the group. Rash and his lady struggled with walking. When we got back, it was time for more free-styling. I was impressed by Abstract when he threw down a impassioned rap about why this music means so much to him. He rapped about how it had given him a house, a record label, and even an intern. The intensity was plain on his face as he rhymed. I have a lot to learn from these people. Fortunately, we will be here until Friday. More adventures are certainly to come.

Go West, Young Band (Day 15)

Martin was last to rise

               I awoke with a pounding headache. The tent was a wreck. There were wine stains on the floor, Matt’s towel, and Martin’s laptop. Luckily, it still works. A box of wine meant to last several days was almost empty. GD recollected, to those of us unable to, how Martin had spilled his wine and GD had used Matt’s towel to clean it up, much to Matt’s displeasure. After a batch of verbal sparring between the two, things subsided for the time being.

Greg found our us a manager

                Martin prepared us another breakfast of beans, oatmeal, and instant coffee which eased the pain and cleared the mind. We had a long day ahead of us, with an eight hour drive from Thunder Bay to Winnipeg. Fortunately, Matt, who had remained sober the previous evening, would be first to drive. 

                How did the Argyles pass the long hours in the van? There was much eating and sleeping. In particular, these were Matt’s preferred form of entertainment. We all also listened to music and engaged in polite conversation. The van also began to feel like a little apartment. Indeed, when searching for something, saying it was in the van was of little help.

Enjoying my new hobby

But each, based on interests and technological constraints, coped in their own way. I spent much time reading, playing computer games, blogging, and, as of late, strumming the chords to Smells Like Teen Spirits and a few other tunes, providing a constant backing track to the music playing the car. Greg, with his fine ear, probably found this annoying. Martin, with his apple computer and internet access through his phone, browsed the web. He also engaged in the occasional game of internet poker to finance his trip. Greg was much like Matt, except with more reading. 

GD fondling Manon's supple case

GD, as the official tour navigator, spent his time looking at the GPS, which he described as “like a video game, except you only watch.” The GPS spoke in a sassy Quebecois accent, earning her the nickname Manon. Throughout the trip, her wisdom has been a source of joy and pain. To be sure, her regular “tournez a gauche” ensured our successful navigation of unknown terrain. But she could also tend towards know-it-all-ism. Much to GD’s displeasure, Greg demanded she be turned off after her incessant demands to turn around, to which Greg would respond “ta geule,” and “shut that bitch off.” As it was Greg’s van, there was little choice but to comply. Avant d’être éteigné, elle a dit: “GD, je t’aime.”

Emerging from the van in Kenora

After a marathon drive, we arrived at a campsite just outside of Winnipeg. Next to it was a amusement park called Tinkertown. We decided it would be an excellent idea to climb the fence and sneak into it. We found ourselves at the top of the slacklining tower with all the necessary equipment. Greg pretended to set himself up for the ride while GD egged him on; Matt, however, did not enjoy this jesting. "Guys, this is a bad idea. GD, stop it!" 

Greg taking the joke to the next level

HAHA! Greg you are being really funny

Greg was tall enough to puff the dragon

But nothing ever happened. Matty and GD then went back to the campsite while Greg and I did some further exploring. We went into the park and climbed up to the top of the waterslide. Then it started to rain. Upon realizing that amusment parks weren't much fun with nothing turned on, we went back. We found both GD and Matt, covered in mud and other red marks, sitting as far as possible from each other. They had been fighting. “What have you two been doing? Fighting?” Greg yelled. “Not only are you in the same band, but of the same flesh and blood. GD, what would your father think?”

 They looked up with a sheepish expression. They respected Greg and his words made a lot of sense.  They exchanged glances for a few moments; then they started to laugh. “I’m sorry for antagonizing you. We shouldn’t be fighting one another. We are Dowling men, not little boys.” “Thanks GD. I agree.” Matt responded. “This is silly when we have a real common enemy: Ryan and his blog.”

We learned why they call it Thunder Bay (Day 14)

There was a lot of rock

            It was another hot and sticky morning in the tent, but at least we were well rested. We had our longest day of driving ahead of us, a six hour trip to Thunder Bay. After breakfast, we packed up the van and took to the trans Canada once more. 

He swallowed the toothpaste

This was my first trip on the trans Canada. It's a little piece of civilization in the wilderness, winding its way up and down large hills with large rock cliffs looming overhead. The scenery was enjoyable, but driving the van on this terrain can be quite difficult. 6 feet wide, 20 feet long, and carrying over 4,000 pounds of cargo, the tight turns and steep inclines of the Canadian Shield gave us our fair share of close calls.  

Passing vehicles were also hazardous. GD almost pooped his pants on one of my more daring maneuvers. A transport truck had pulled aside to let me pass and Greg urged me to accept the offer. As I passed the truck, another car emerged from behind a bend, 100 meters ahead. Fortunately, I was able to pass just as the other car veered passed.

Matt in his touring outfit

                And if something were to happen, we would be far from anyone able to help. This was the most isolated part of the world I have ever been, where 3,000 people is a city, 200 kilometres close, and with signs that only say Ontario in case you’ve forgotten you are still there. The few people here all live in towns oriented around the highway where they survive on a simple exchange of commodities. People drive in. They take gas and food. They leave money and shit behind. 

       

 

Looking like rockstars in Thunder Bay

                We arrived in Thunder Bay on a Saturday evening, although days of the week have lost their meaning to us. The downtown was devoid of pedestrians with only a few vagrants. Having loaded up on supplies—namely beer and propane—we decided we had had enough of this town already and returned to the campsite. 

The cheese spent 3 days in the van

                We were all a bit tired and hungry at that point, and tempers were running high. While setting up the tent, GD whacked Matt on the back of the head with the tent pole, part of an ill-conceived scheme to antagonize him as a source of entertainment. Matt cursed GD and gave him a long stare, but nothing happened beyond that. Soon after, dinner was ready and things cooled down. 

                With food and beer in our bellies, the Argyles decided to do some much needed practicing. GD baselines were becoming more and more solid. Greg also helped me work on some new sax parts. I am a proficient sax player, but struggle to come up with good parts on my own. I don’t have the same ear that he does. It was frustrating to see the ease at which he came up them while I was unable to contribute whatsoever.

Practicing in the washing station

We made a new friend

But rather than wallowing around in my own self pity, I decided to do something about it. After we got back to the tent, I picked up the guitar for the first time. Greg and Martin instructed me how to do power chords. Soon enough, I was able to play a part of Smells Like Teen Spirit and even played along with Greg for the verses of My Generation. It was the largest grin I had sported since first year. Looks like I have a new hobby.