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[austinmiller]

Why Stargard?

On a cold, rainy October Monday night, I was starting the Polish leg of my European tour in a town called Stargard. Despite several trips to Poland in the past, I had never heard of it before. The venue was a hip brewpub, which seemed just a little out of place for its surroundings. The room was about half full, and I could feel the handful of people there slowly divert their eyes to me as I got on stage and tuned my guitar. To be honest, it’s these laid-back nights that I tend to thrive.

Between my second and third songs, a woman near the front spoke up, inquisitively: “So, why Stargard?!” I responded, “Well... that’s a question you’ll have to ask my booking agent” with a slight hint of sarcasm. The room filled with more laughter than I anticipated; apparently an unexpected answer to a question that was on everyone else’s mind, too.

While they were expecting a simple answer (maybe I had family here, or was studying abroad, or was I just lost?), the answer was far more complex than I could ever sum up as banter between songs. How could I explain the last 10 years of touring to anywhere and everywhere I could, with a heavy preference for “off the beaten track”?

As I mentioned, it was a cold and rainy Monday in October, during a pandemic no less. Stargard didn’t have any major tourist attractions that I knew of. Or really even any tourists. The city square, vacant of any foreigners other than myself, was lined with some several hundred year old buildings on one side, and weathered Soviet-era apartments on the other three. Nightlife on a Stargard Monday? Well, I got the impression that I was pretty much it.

I kept the joke going as the set progressed, because clearly it was working. “I’m just going to email my booking agent tomorrow. ‘Dear Bartek, why Stargard?’ I’ll let you know what he says.”

In recent years, I’ve slowly moved the dial of my touring goals a little further from “making it as a musician” and a little more towards “just go out there and have some fun”. When I see tour schedules with no deep cuts, nowhere interesting, nowhere I haven’t heard of, well, it just seems boring. Even if they are coming home with more money than me. My loose, unofficial touring mantra has been something along the lines of “tour wherever you want, as much as you want, and accept every single worthwhile gig. Even if it means no off days”.

Again, how was I going to explain this in any meaningful way to my audience?

They remained attentive the whole set, and I was pleased with my performance. As I put down my guitar after my “last song” with the applause continuing, it was pretty clear that they wanted to hear more.

I picked my guitar back up and said “Thank you all, truly, so much. This has been the best Monday I’ve had in a long time. And I think I finally have an answer to ‘Why Stargard’. You are why Stargard. This cool venue and its friendly staff are why Stargard. Don’t sell yourselves short. I hope I can come back someday.”

“Yeah, but maybe on a Friday!” someone quipped back, as we had one last laugh together. I got back to my hotel room with a meal to-go courtesy of the venue, and found that the owner had thrown in a couple pieces of pie. I smiled big. I had forgotten how kind the Polish people are. Even when they don’t have to be. And it just felt so damn good to be doing this again.

The next night, a Tuesday, I got on stage down the road in Szczecin. Another hip, partially filled bar. The rain wasn’t letting up, and it was the kind of cold that cuts right through a Florida boy. After the first song, I tuned my guitar while introducing myself. Someone immediately piped up, “So, what brings you to Szczecin?”

[austinmiller]

South Bend, IN

What do you do when the two anchor dates that you booked an entire tour around cancel on you? You f’n go on the tour anyway. Head down and hope for the best.

Things started off in the Raleigh/Durham triangle. 4 shows in 3 days. A higher show load made possible by a region rich in places to play. None too far apart, yet all separate “markets”. Lots of old friends at these. It seems like this area is where a lot of twenty-somethings in the south are ending up, akin to Atlanta. At Sunday afternoon’s show, another band starts setting up right before I go on. “Did I mess something up?” briefly crosses my mind. Nope, definitely not. But we end up sharing the show. “You guys can play for your beers this time”, the booker says to the other band.

Monday is a long drive with no show. Chapel Hill to Cincinnati. I’m in no hurry to get on the road, and spend the morning with Dan, Keelie, and their dog. The car windows get chilly in the mountains of WV, and it’s full on winter once I get to Kentucky. Jean and Gene give me the garage code, and I sneak in while they are asleep. The former is my mom’s cousin. They’re empty nesters with the same house and plenty of beds. I decide that this is the ideal crashing situation, even though it would have been nice to spend more time with them.

Tuesday’s show in Lafayette, IN is mostly an older crowd. I play a Pete Seeger song and tell stories about my songs/from the road, all of which go over well in these situations. I’m staying with Sam, a friend of a friend who I’d not met before. I knock on his door after the show and he gives me a funny look.

“I just wanted to make sure John didn’t send a weird serial killer my way.”

“Has he sent many weird serial killers over in the past?”

“No, just normal serial killers.”

He eases up, and cooks us some mighty tasty Korean food on a camp stove in his kitchen, next to his actual stove. I start to think about Better Call Saul.

“Why the camp stove?”

“It’s more authentic.”

He just got back from a trip to Seoul, so I take his word for it. It’s a cold night. I layer up and inflate my air mattress. Around 5am, I wake up and it feels a little splashy. “Yup, that’s the floor”. The pump is back out in my car, and it’s able to hold enough air for me to get a few more hours. I’ve gone through a number of these things in my years of touring, but this one is probably the shortest lived.

I get on the road for Chicago, where I’m playing with local band Tobacco Road. We’re booked to play our own sets, as well as three songs of collab. I head to Chris’s apartment to practice before the show. As I’m relaxing for a minute, my car shakes and there’s a loud bang. Someone had hit me. They stop for a second, I lay on my horn to let them know I’m *in* the car, and they drive off. But not far. They park less than a block away. I think about leaving a nasty note on their car with several choice words. But my car is fine and I’m just rattled. I decide against it.

It’s a long drive and an early show the next day in Trempealeau, WI. No one has heard of it, or is sure how to pronounce it. I check the weather and learn that the next few days will involve some gnarly winter weather. The venue owner says that it will definitely effect the turn out, and she’s right. The show isn’t a total wash though, and if nothing else, it’s one of the coolest venues I’ve ever played. It’s on the National Register, and for good reason. I get a room upstairs, which is rare in middle America. But I decide against drinking for the night. A family is at the bar with their young kids, and little interest in keeping an eye on them. One of them falls off a stool and into my open guitar case. She’s fine, but my case is not, and now it won’t close all the way without some configuring.

“We’re so sorry, is the case broken?”

“Um, kind of, I’m not too sure...”

They leave it at that.

I’m playing 20 minutes up the road the next night, and staying back in Trempealeau in the same room. This show takes a much harder hit from the weather. As I load out, a heavy hail is falling. Later that night, there’s a light dust. By the morning, there are several inches of snow on the ground.

I wake up to an email from that night’s booker in Minnesota. “Roads are not good with the weather not supposed to let up until tomorrow. No worries if you want to reschedule.”

I tell him if they’re staying open, I’m coming. The bartender at the hotel gives me a plastic cup to scrape ice off my windshield. A long train rolls past loaded down with semi trailers. I eat a fish sandwich and set out through the back roads of Minnesota. The conditions truly are the worst I’ve ever driven in. Thick ice and snow coming down at a steady rate. Once on the interstate, there’s even more snow. “Maybe this is a bad idea?” I take it slow, and there are very few other cars. Every semi is parked on the shoulder.

It’s a brewery show, and surprisingly it’s packed at first. But most people trickle out as the night progresses, and the weather not letting up, rightfully so. I get a meal out of it, and despite trying to reduce my dairy intake, I opt for a giant wood-oven pizza. I deserved it for even making it there, I tell myself. It hit the spot.

Sunday’s show is in the afternoon afternoon in Iowa, several hours away. No time to dally. Especially since the roads and weather aren’t getting any better. Maybe next time, hotel pool! Somehow, it’s even worse than yesterday, until I cross the state line. The show ends up being another quiet one. But it’s a proper listening room, which I’m thankful for. I sling some CDs and somehow, again, it doesn’t end up being a waste of time. I was hoping for much better, especially since several friends and fans decide to stay home. But I’ll take it. It could be worse. *I* could be the one sitting at home.

The show wraps up by 5pm, and I’m invited to a dinner party with my host and show goers. But I decide to hang back, somewhat regrettably. I’m exhausted, and it’s my first chance to take a breather in over a week.

Sunday’s show and the evening to relax/reflect had me thinking about my role in this whole music thing. It’s not always glorious, and is often frustrating. I’m constantly risking my health and well-being, even on the good days. But I’m really glad to be doing this. I certainly can’t imagine doing anything else.

[austinmiller]

Wake up and fight.

2017 wasn’t my busiest year, but it felt that way. I did a lot of traveling for my shows. A lot. I got on 15 airplanes. I rented 4 cars. I borrowed 4 more. I took 2 ferries. There were a number of trains, buses, trams, Ubers, couches, and hotel rooms. I played at least a hundred shows. I could go count but it would take a while and I don’t feel like it.

I’ve been seeing plenty of “year in review” posts on social media over the past week. But in the early hours of the year’s last day, I don’t quite feel like mine has hit me yet. I know that it was a good one, and that I accomplished a lot. But I feel like a need a little more time. It’s certainly not the first time that I’ve felt that way.

I’m still eager to see what the next year holds. I’m gonna do my best to make it another good one. As always, Woody says it best.

[austinmiller]

Brussels, Belgium

I arrived back in Europe today, for the second time this year. I showered and took a long nap at my Airbnb right away. Now it’s getting duskier by the minute, the window is open, and I haven’t turned the lights on yet. I can hear a couple arguing, and kids playing in the street. I can smell the landfill, and someone cooking something that I imagine would be tasty.

[austinmiller]

Denali, AK

I love Alaskans, but they are notoriously unreliable. Not all of them. But enough for several other people from the rest of America to come to me and say “Is it just me, or are Alaskans unreliable?”

My Alaskan tours have all been incredibly memorable, but very difficult to navigate with logistics and booking. On the first weekend, I got hit hard. An important show canceled, and I lost 4 nights of accommodation in 2 towns, all at the hands of one dude. As these tours trudge on, I start to see the beauty of a sleepable vehicle. A few days later, the aforementioned dude apologized profusely via email after leaving me hanging in a bad way, and promised to Venmo some money to make up for it. Still waiting on that.

Two days off turned into three, which is more time than I’ve had off on tour in years. I try to make the most of it. Mostly I just slept.

I make the trek north out of Anchorage, into a rain storm didn’t let up for 24 hours. Somewhere between Talkeetna and Fairbanks, I opened the trunk to find that the water had made its way in. My suitcase was soaked, but luckily the bag containing my guitar pedals was spared. With the only clean clothes being on my back, I made a quick detour to my friends’ place to get laundry going, with very little time to spare before my show. I had to skip dinner and wait until after my show. It was not easy to find food at 11:30pm in Fairbanks. Several places that Google Maps claimed were open were not, or had stopped serving food. I was so hungry and frustrated that I almost started crying. But luckily I found a 24 hour diner. I wasn’t stoked on the smoking section but decided to deal with it. I inhaled my “farmer’s skillet” and almost passed out on my empty plate. I drive back to where I’m staying, and end up staying late with a hair dryer and my damp suitcase.

Have I complained enough yet? I’d like to think that I’m just recounting accurately.

Night 2 in Fairbanks is a packed house, which includes a bachelor party that keeps trying to get on stage. The staff seems disinterested in preventing it so I have to shoo them off myself. My opener plays, I start and finish late. I leave at 3am with full pockets, and I momentarily decide that dealing with all the bullshit is worth it.

I head back south to Denali. I book a cabin for one night, and the venue owner says he’ll put me up the next night. “I’ll be at the bar all day tomorrow, just call me.” I do and he’s not. I show back up to the bar and ask the bartender to text him for me. I drive back up the hill to where I have cell service, waiting for a call. I fall asleep in my car for an hour or so, wake up, still nothing. Is this dude ignoring me? Am I being dropped like a hot potato, again? I wait a little longer, and go back to the bar, feeling like I’m starting to bother them. “Still nothing, man.” I explain the situation to him, and he says he thinks he can help. I sit at the bar for a while before he feels like explaining to me where to go.

I end up in the employee housing area for several bars, restaurants, and hotels. It’s ramshackle as hell, even by Alaskan standards. I’m pointed in the direction of a tiny, dirty room with a crumbled up air mattress, a window, and nothing else. No curtains. “The sun rises in that direction, so good luck with that” an employee tells me with a chuckle while exhaling a cloud of vape smoke.

Someone else shows up on a four wheeler and asks suspiciously “Who are you?” I try explaining the situation to him. “So... you’re working here.” Sure, let’s go with that. He comes back with sheets and blankets, and tells me rather sincerely, “Please, let me know if you need anything else.”

It should come as no surprise to anyone reading this that the air mattress didn’t hold air. I lay on it for an hour before sleeping and it’s already much emptier. I walk over to four wheerler dude’s room to see if he knows where another is. The lights are on and music is playing slightly louder than it should be for midnight. I give a friendly, rhythmed knock on his door. “I’m busy” he snarls back. “Ooook” I respond, and think to myself “Of course you are”. I guess I’ll just have to deal with it?

I let the rest of the air out, and use a blanket and a piece of foam from the trunk of the car to make as much cushion as I can, preparing for a night on the floor. I fall asleep for a couple hours, and wake up around 4am, miserable. Someone walks down the hall listening to “I Ran” by A Flock of Seagulls on their cell phone speaker at full volume. “I can’t wait to ‘run so far away’ from this place” I think to myself.

By 6am, the sun is shining into my room at full strength, and I try to get a few hours with a shirt over my face. I get up around 11am, sore all over. If I have ever deserved a good meal in my life, now is that time. It’s a hot day.

While I focused on a lot of the negatives here, it really has been a fantastic tour. I can’t believe I’ve been able to tour up here four times. I have two shows left. Redeye flight on Wednesday, home on Thursday.

[austinmiller]

A delayed, brief summary of what I did in 2016

I had the worst hangover of my life on the first day of 2016. On the second day, I promised to get it under control and keep the day-crippling hangovers to a bare minimum. I sat 15 feet from Jackson Browne at his show and felt more invigorated to make music than ever. I got my own health insurance plan for the first time. Caitlin and I moved to a much nicer place. We got renters insurance. I finished and released a new album. Caught the flu. I flew across the ocean to play a lot of shows. I lost my mind for a few days, found it, and flew back. I did my taxes for the first time as a musician. Politics enthralled like they never had before and I found my views shifting a little bit. I got a new car that wasn’t a convertible. I lost health insurance and then got it back again. I started aching for no particular reason and felt “old” for the first time, on a physical level. I started going to the gym. Someone wrote a Wikipedia entry for me but it got taken down a few weeks later because another person decided I wasn’t relevant enough. I stopped being a substitute teacher. Survived a hurricane. A lot of my friends moved away from Orlando and I started to feel disconnected a little bit. I became an Uber driver and realized how poorly they get paid. I started tipping more as an Uber rider, while also deciding that it wasn’t really worth my time to drive anymore. Made silly “business” cards. I appreciated my mom more than ever. Didn’t take a vacation, but decided that I need one. Achieved the goal I set at the beginning of the year. Realized that in certain ways, I was happier than I had been in a long time.

[austinmiller]

Trust no one and always look under the bed. Hampton, VA.

December in the eastern US is far from ideal touring conditions. It's cold and the threat of snow always looms. Would-be showgoers are in holiday mode, and college kids are studying for exams. But looking at my calendar a few months ago, I felt like my work for the year wouldn't be done yet, despite my highest show count since 2013. So I pieced together a short tour. Nine shows, mostly familiar territory, and mostly venues that I tried to book earlier in the year and couldn't for whatever reason.

I left Orlando on a Wednesday with no show until Thursday. I set my sights on Savannah without knowing where I would sleep. Friends were busy or out of town. I sent an Airbnb request, and heard nothing. I looked into motels whenever I pulled over to use a rest stop bathroom. I ended up at a cheap Days Inn which seemed nice enough. But I still looked under the mattress, as I sometimes do, in an attempt to not wake up covered in bedbug bites. Sure enough, I found several. Some dead, a couple still alive. I stormed to the front desk, trying to keep my composure, knowing the employee would be less sympathetic if I approached her angrily.

"Hello again! It turns out there are some bedbugs in my room…" I said with a fake smile.

"Would you like a different room?"

"Yes, please."

15 minutes later, I was back with the same problem, and this time I left with a refund. Luckily, an Airbnb host had gotten back to me and gave me the option to stay with her, despite the late hour. I hit confirm and sped across town. But by the time I got there, it was clear no one was there to welcome me, and phone calls went unanswered. Another hotel?

I lifted up my third mattress of the night and just started laughing. It had to be a joke, right? I went to the front desk, and the guy seemed shocked by my claim, despite the fact that I also found a dead one squished on the headboard.

"BED-bugs?!" he looked at me, puzzled.

"Yes", I nodded slowly.

Another refund.

Through a Facebook post and a huge stroke of luck, I found a couch for the night. But it was only for a few hours as both friends of a friend had to work early. I woke groggy and grumpy, dreading the drive to Wilmington. I made it just fine, in no small part thanks to coffee and only listening to uptempo music. I slept 20 minutes in a grocery store parking lot before my show. The “change oil” light came on. I would have to take care of that tomorrow.

I realized I forgot a microphone at home and started laughing again. I was not off to a good start. Luckily, a bartender tracked one down and procured it matter of minutes.

Despite several mishaps before playing a single note of music, the show ended up being a good one. Some old friends, and some that had been sent my way by friends elsewhere. I went back to Jules' apartment, who I get to see every year or two. She blew up an air mattress for me, and we stayed up late catching up and hanging with her dog.

I slept late, checked my itinerary while waking up, and realized that my show in Norfolk, VA would be earlier than I thought. I sprung up, walked the dog, and started looking for a place to get an oil change. After hearing "How about tomorrow?" several times, I found somewhere that was able to squeeze me in. 45 minutes later-

"Mr. Miller? We have some news for you." I heard with a worried tone.

The two of them went on to tell me that whoever changed my oil last had goofed up the cap to the point where it couldn't be taken off, which in turn damaged the tank. They couldn't change the oil, they couldn't fix it until Monday, and it would cost around $500. I explained that I would have to worry about it somewhere else. So another 4 hour drive, and a perpetual ball of stress in my chest. Would my car would make it, and who, if anyone, should I blame for such a blunder?

I tried to put this behind me, but the whole ordeal had me running late for my show. I was playing with old friends Ben and Emaleigh, who I met on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan 3 years ago. Since then, Ben got his Ph.D. They moved to Virginia, adopted a dog. Ben got a job at NASA, and Emaleigh a high school chemistry teacher. Despite all of this, they kept their indie/folk band alive. They played a great set and persuaded several of their friends to buy my CDs while I drank an impressive local wheat beer.

The following day's show was in the afternoon, and afterwards I continued my search for somewhere to take care of my auto woes. Not easy at 5pm on a Saturday. I found a Jiffy Lube and didn't mention what I was told the day prior. The mechanic at the register shyly complimented my facial hair. A video game tournament showed on the cable TV. I watched my car pull out of the garage.

"Okay! So we're all set, your wipers look good, fluids are topped off…"

I listened, shocked, and explained to him why.

"Unfortunately, some shops will try to trick people into getting repairs they don't really need."

I thanked him for not falling under that category. But I couldn't prevent 10 minutes of anger from overcoming me as I drove away. Back in Wilmington, far from home, someone tried to pull a quick one one. They tried to take my money under the pretense of a lie, strand me, while also preventing me from making money. My tirade passed, and I decided to just be grateful that it was much less worse than I anticipated. Indian food was in order.

[austinmiller]

My last Friday morning in Orlando was one of those early, up-and-at-em kind of days. My bags weren’t quite packed, and I never want to leave anything to chance when it comes to getting to an airport in time. I got a total of 3 hours of sleep, but I sprung out of bed nonetheless. I had been waiting for this day for too long.

Orlando to NYC to Amsterdam to Copenhagen. At 18 hours, it was far from an ideal day of travel. I got to my terminal with plenty of time to spare, and minded my mother’s suggestion to “Be nice to everyone at TSA”. And much to my surprise, no one with the airline haggled me too much for carrying on my guitar that doesn’t technically fit the dimensions of carry on luggage. This is one of the more stressful aspects of these fly-out tours, and a topic that I end up doing a lot of research on. So good on you, Delta.

I arrived in Copenhagen the next day exhausted and jet lagged, straight to the hotel I go. But my flights are redeyes, so my room isn’t quite ready. I pass out in a chair in the lobby, and hard. In-depth dreams ensue, and when I’m awoken by the hotel employee, it takes more than a few seconds to come out of them. I mutter some gibberish at him still half asleep, and he proceeds to show me to my room. Upon going for a walk later, I realize I’m in Copenhagen’s equivalent of the redlight district. There is no shortage of strip clubs and sex shops, and signs on lampposts reminding everyone that prostitution is wrong. (Notice how they don’t mention its legality--that’s the Scandinavian way.) However, it’s worth mentioning that even the seedier parts of Copenhagen feel safer than the so-so parts of pretty much any American town. I never feel like I’m in danger.

Copenhagen notorious for being one of the world’s most expensive cities, and it becomes very clear as to why. (Despite the fact that it’s a cheap place to fly in and out of.) Last year in Europe, I basically lived on döner kebabs, which I found for as little as €2 in Germany and The Netherlands. Here in Denmark, they are often as much as 100 kroner, which comes out to $15. So I avoid them, and stock up on supplies at the grocery store. I’m going on 48 hours of subpar food--needless to say I’m ecstatic when my friends Jenna and Simon greet me with a homemade meal the next day.

I wanted to pause and fast forward a bit. The next few days were incredibly frustrating, and a number of things changed the course and mood of the tour a bit. Nothing serious, but also stuff I’m trying not to worry about anymore. Also, I don’t want to bore you, even though I’m sure I already have. I’m sure what I write from here on out will still drift towards boring at times. But I’ll do my best to make those moments brief. So lets skip ahead a handful of days.

I arrived in Bremen late in the afternoon on a Thursday. My show had been moved from a bar to more of a cafe/coffeeshop, but there were no shortage of libations. Both venues are owned by the same group of people, and it takes just a few minutes walking along the river to go from one to the other. I get this feeling here that I haven’t felt elsewhere on this tour. Bremen is one of the few cities in Germany where the younger generation is making something happen. They are involved and making their presence known. There’s an incredible sense of community here; everyone knows everyone at the cafe and the bar. Hugs are bountiful as several of them had been out of town for a while. When the cafe or bar becomes busy, a patron will quickly become an employee, then switch back. They play in bands together, on the same rec soccer teams. Everyone has a passion, which all seem to intermingle. But no one takes themselves too seriously.

After the show, a toddler comes up to the stage, hesitates for a few moments, and says “Come drink beer with us”. I see her parents laughing towards the back. Before long most of the crowd migrates to the bar, which reaches capacity soon after. It becomes clear that their night won’t be ending anytime soon. But I have a longer than usual drive the next day, so I call it a night after my second beer. I’m staying in the living room of some of my new friends, after a long streak of hotels. I was starting to feel out of touch, and I’m glad I got brought back down to earth.

My long drive to Belgium the next day is made even longer by rain, traffic from accidents, and heavy presence of law enforcement due to the terror attacks just a few days prior. Still, I make it to my venue with time to spare, and I inhale a Bicky burger and large portion of frites after a day with little food. The show ends up being a strange one; I’m playing unplugged in a tiny albeit very lively bar. Afterwards, I’m stuck in the “where will he stay” limbo, and I’m fine with having an excuse to skip town. I send my friend Tim a message, who I’m staying with the next night, and he gives me the green light for an early (late) arrival. It’s another hour and a half to his place. I pass out almost immediately, and don’t start moving again until well into the afternoon.

To say that I was given a warm welcome by Tim and his family would be an understatement. His parents stopped what they’re doing as I come down the stairs and put breakfast on for me, despite the fact that I am a stranger who came to their house with little heads up in the middle of the night. We all have a good chat and I am filled to the brim with eggs, fresh croissants, and fruit. They give me a walking tour around the town, and before we know it, it’s time to set up for the night’s show. The gig goes amazingly, and it redeems the bummer of a night that came before it.

I dip back into the Netherlands for one last show there on Easter Sunday. I stay at an Airbnb in the house of couple in their 70s. The woman shrieks whenever she sees me in the hallway unexpectedly. Strange. Moving on.

Barrenstein, Germany is the likely candidate for smallest town of the tour. It’s Easter Monday now, which is an even bigger deal than Easter Sunday in Germany. My venue was happy to do a show for me, and it seems to be the only establishment open for miles. (Not that there would have been many others on a non-holiday.) I worry about if I’m going to be able to find food anywhere, but my hosts cook up a mean schnitzel for me after my show.

I end up having two shows cancel last minute (which in the touring world, means “a month out”). This is to be expected on a 40 show tour, but both of them are on days when I’m in Switzerland. This is far from ideal, as Switzerland is one of the most expensive countries in the world. Not a place where someone like me should be worrying about lodging and meals paired with zero income days. Not to mention, I turned down three (!!!) other gigs after booking the latter of the two cancellations. Even though it’s nothing I could have predicted, I still beat myself up a bit over it. But the rest is much-needed, or at least I tell myself that it is. Regardless, Switzerland is probably the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, and my arrival coincides with the best weather they’ve had in months. My first Swiss show gives me brief flashbacks to my show in Ghent (unplugged, small but loud bar, accommodation shuffle) but I end up meeting some lovely people.

Tonight is the second of my unexpected days off, and I’m in the tiny town of Fenin. Tomorrow is a short drive to Montreux for my second and last Swiss show. I’m almost halfway done with the tour, which almost doesn’t seem right, and I’m not sure if it feels like it’s been longer or shorter. My compass feels like it’s been spinning ever since I left home, but morale is definitely positive.

[austinmiller]

Cleveland, OH

"We're here" read the text on my phone, just as I was beginning to wonder where they were. One of the complications of touring with three other dudes of varying smells is that it isn't always easy to find one place for everyone to sleep. So I split for the night. I gathered my belongings to jump in the van to head to Cleveland. But the scene outside wasn't one that looked like we would get there anytime soon. The hood was popped, emergency blinkers on, and the three of them staring into the engine. Piece by piece, they told me that the car wasn't going into drive. I know a few things about cars, but this was out of my jurisdiction. Luckily, Jordan was able to land on an "I *think* I know what's wrong”. Soon after he was reaching into the depths of the engine with a shirt around his hand. Somehow, he was able to put the car into drive this way. We limped down the road towards the vicinity towards some repair shops. None of them would be able to do anything for several days. So we would travel onward like this to Cleveland. Having to get out of the car, lift the hood, and manually shift the car into park, reverse, or drive, whenever necessary.

It didn't take long for me to play out all sorts of scenarios in my head. Ones where the ability to shift the car into park, reverse, or drive on short notice might come in handy. Ones where those abilities decided our safety. We had two and a half hours to dodge these scenarios, and I tried to pretend I wasn't scared out of my mind. I didn't do a very good job at that. Greg promised he would drive carefully. 

So we were Cleveland bound in our red jalopy of a van. I was a little too anxious to listen to music or anything that involved me zoning out. The two in the front struggled with directions, attempting to navigate the twisted web of Pittsburgh's highways, and discussed possibly canceling the show in Dayton the next day. Kev was with me in the back, calling every auto parts shop in Cleveland, asking for a part that was seemingly nonexistent. The conversation went the same every time. "Hello, I was looking for a part... I have the part number... it's a shift cable bushing... ...No? Okay, thanks so much"

One finally turned up. We pulled into a rest stop and parked in a semi-truck spot to finalize the deal over the phone. But our hopes were quickly dashed when they found out that the info on the store's computer system did not reflect what they actually had in stock. A couple more unfruitful phone calls, and we had given up. I was counting the miles and days until we would be home safely.

We all woke up under the same roof the next day. Greg slept on couch cushions on the floor of the kitchen. He got a phone call a few minutes after waking up --“Hello?... Okay, I’ll be right out”, and ran out the door. I made a cup of tea, and by the time I was taking the first sips, he came back in with a big smile. He didn’t even need to tell me.

Apparently someone at the show the previous night used to be a mechanic. With ten minutes and two zipties, he fixed the problem, and refused any cash. Cars are weird. People are generous. 

[austinmiller]

[austinmiller]

Playing guitar and singing in Bobby’s Oar. Some solo shows, too. Come see us.

8/12 – Orlando, FL @ St Matthews 8/13 – Asheville, NC @ the Odditorium 8/15 – Philadelphia, PA @ House Show 8/16 – Flemington, NJ @ 90 Main 8/17 – Pittsburgh, PA @ City Grows 8/18 – Cleveland, OH @ Dag House 8/20 – Nashville, TN @ Firebreath Studios 8/21 – Atlanta, GA @ House Show 8/22 – Tallahassee, FL @ All Saints Cafe

[austinmiller]

Homer, AK. Consistencies, etc.

There are only a handful of venues that I have played on all three of my Alaskan tours. The Down East Saloon in Homer is one of them. The Down East is a little outside of town, away from the main drag. The shows there are usually a relatively quiet affair, with a couple dozen barflies at most. But they listen, and intently, so I keep coming back.

Mike runs the sound. He’s an older gentleman, probably in his sixties, with a beard that looks like its seen at least half of those years. The past two times, his wife has joined him in the sound booth, never leaving his side. They are always the two kindest listeners there, not talking during my set, and giving me a flood of generous compliments afterwards. Mike is a musician too, so he and I usually talk for a while about technique and songwriting. This time, however, Mike’s wife wasn’t there, and I got a little worried. But between sets, he called her and told her everything that was going on, everything that she was missing. Even when they’re apart, they’re still inseparable.

Every time I play the Down East, they are kind enough to put me up in a nice hotel room. Every time, it’s been at a different hotel. I’m convinced that if I keep coming back, I’ll be able to stay at every single hotel in town. There aren’t very many to choose from, anyway.

[austinmiller]

Anchorage, AK. Submersion, trial by fire, etc.

If I’ve learned anything about touring in Alaska, it’s to always expect the unexpected. Or better yet, don’t expect anything at all. Plans always change. It usually isn’t anything personal, it just happens. This has been especially true for me getting from town to town to make it to my shows. My previous two tours of the 49th have had messy logistics. A confusing hodgepodge of cramming into other people’s cars, late rides, cancelled rides, attempting to navigate the expensive public transit system, and sometimes, when I’m lucky, getting to borrow someone’s car. But when that has happened, it’s only been for a few days at a time. That’s why when I locked down a car to use for the entire tour this summer, I was incredibly relieved. But also skeptical.

I got into Anchorage on Thursday night after spending 14 hours in airplanes and airports. Sid picked me up from the airport in Anchorage to take me to my car, where I would then drive to my host’s house, and go straight to bed. We drove slowly through the neighborhood where the car had been left for me. I spotted the red Subaru from a distance. It was there. Things were going to be easy and simple this time. I opened the door of the car to grope around under the driver seat for the keys. Then, right there, in between the driver and passenger seats, the unexpected was staring right at me.

The car that had been left for me was a stick shift.

I had driven a stick shift once in my life before. It was nine years ago in my high school friend Paul’s VW Golf. It was a truly horrific event. I stalled the engine again and again. I made it to second gear, once, before stalling again. I got out of the car laughing, wondering why anyone would willingly choose to drive a stick shift, when the automatic transmission was a perfectly feasible option.

Driving Paul’s car was just for fun. Now nine years later, I meet the manual transmission again. But this time, my livelihood depends on it. If I want to play my shows, this is what I’m going to have to use.

Luckily, Sid was still there with me. He was able to give me a quick lesson. Just like I did nine years ago, I stalled the car several times. But this time, I wasn’t able to just laugh it off. I had to figure it out. Sid was already running late for a band practice, so he couldn’t stay long. The stick and I were left alone.

Reverse, stall. Car off, clutch, car on. First gear, stall. Car off, clutch, car on. First gear, clutch, second gear...

I was able to limp the car to where I was staying for the night. The tour seemed insurmountable. I just needed rest, I told myself. I woke up the next day and gave it another go. The idea of fifth gear terrified me. I hopped on the highway to go across Anchorage for my first show. Slowly, I made my way up the gear box, all the way to fourth. Which was as high as I got with Sid in the car with me. As I brought my speed up to 55 mph, the engine started to whine a little bit, begging for fifth gear. Very slowly and deliberately I went- clutch, up, over, up, gas. Somehow, it worked. I let out a big yell. I was in fifth gear, and felt like I was driving a getaway car. I got off the highway, shifted down to a complete stop, and picked up speed again without stalling. The tour seemed a little more doable at that point.

It’s still not completely comfortable, but I’m at a point that I didn’t think I’d make it to. Parallel parking still seems especially impossible. Luckily, I don’t think I’ll have to do any of that in Cooper Landing tonight, population 289. Note to self- the parking brake is your best friend in the world right now.

[austinmiller]

Alaska 2015

July 10 - Anchorage - Live After 5 July 10 - Anchorage - Flying Chinook July 12 - Cooper Landing - Kingfisher July 15 - Talkeetna - Fairview Inn July 16 - Denali - Sheldon Arts Center July 17 - Denali - Salmon Bake July 18 - Fairbanks - The Marlin July 19 - Talkeetna - Alaskan Lodge July 20 - Denali - The Spike July 22 - Denali - Panorama Pub July 24 - Anchorage - Taproot July 25 - Anchorage - Fairview Block Party (afternoon show) July 25 - Willow - Trading Post Bar July 29 - Anchorage - Subzero July 30 - Homer - Down East Saloon July 31 - Seldovia - Linwood Bar August 1 - Seldovia - Linwood Bar August 3- Anchorage - House Show

[austinmiller]

[austinmiller]

Dublin -> Cork

Greetings from a Cork-bound Go Bus. Cloud cover is heavy over the Irish countryside and rain is intermittent, but from what I can gather, it's beautiful. After a long winter, the trees and shrubbery are starting to regain their greens, in true Irish fashion. The bus is equipped with Wifi, but not running water, which I only found out once I had already applied soap to my hands. Don't worry, I'm not typing this with soapy fingers, but the contents of my Nalgene have been mostly depleted. After arriving in Dublin two days ago, I had some adapting to do. The time change. The fact that I slept maybe 30 minutes on my red-eye flight. The whole cars on the opposite side of road thing. All of this left my brain feeling like mush, and I was glad that I had 36 hours between landing and my first show. I explored the town for a few hours at a time, then sleep whenever I felt it coming on. I think I'm starting to get back on a suitable schedule for that. My first and only show so far was in Dublin last night. Hamlet hosts the Song Room every Wednesday at The Globe. I was playing with three other acts, all from the Dublin area, and I felt like a bit of a sore thumb. But they were all fantastic and extremely kind to me. After the show was done, the scene transitioned from listening room to night club rather quickly. I set off for my long walk home, to be greeted with a steady rain the entire way. When I got back to my hotel, I canvassed the tiny room with my wet clothes. I should have invested in an umbrella. My second show is tonight at the Pine Lodge in Cork county. My interactions in Dublin so far have mostly been a split between Irish and Americans, which I'm fine with. But I think that will change a little bit tonight, and later on in the tiny town of Roscommon, before leaving for England on Sunday. Especially since I appear to be the only westerner on this bus. Back to gazing at the countryside for me.

[austinmiller]