We stole a box of our new CD and are bringing it to the show. Yup, you heard it right. The national release will be in July, but we have advance copies available for two nights only.

Holy shit. I am getting so excited just thinking about it.

Let’s do this people

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Swashbuckling fun, grab your sword and join the fun.

Check out the dates and cities to find out when we’re near you.

Hail the King

The Independent

It’s gonna be our last big hurrah of the year. Last two shows here were sell outs and a shitload of fun so don’t be late.

Also performing will be:

Mwahaha, Beso Negro and DJ sets by the Rondo Brothers.

12:00pm–  Hoping to catch Release the Sunbird, but get involved in a hit-and-run accident on the way to the park.  I run successfully, but am too late for the show.

2:15pm--  I hide the car, chug some Ancient Age and catch Lotus. I also catch what is probably syphilis from a 47-year-old belly-dancer with eleven fingers.

3:40pm--  Cameron Diaz feeds me popcorn while we watch Foster The People.  Her hands have an unhappy smell.

4:35pm–  I butt-bump some MDMA and glide over to MGMT.  They look really handsome.

MISSING TIME EXPERIENCE.

6:30pm–  I don’t know where Phish begins and my talk with Tony Orlando’s ghost ends, but I am overcome with a new perspective on the career of Freddie Prinze Jr.  I decide to run to Erykah Badu at the halfway mark.  I am joined by the lady.

8:00pm–  On the way to Erykah Badu, we see Big Boi running around with pupils like twin moons and a hard-on to rival the fabled leviathan.  I snap a few pics for TMZ and move on.  Badu comes out and owns.  My good time is briefly interrupted when I get hit in the back of the neck by a blowdart.  I hope it’s not dosed with staph.  Whatever.

9:45pm–  Erykah Badu finishes her set without playing her ultimate jam, “Tyrone.”  Despite this flagrant disrespect to the people, her show is still amazing.  Nonetheless, I am left feeling conflicted– I feel like one of the girls that JFK raped back in ‘62.  I hustle to catch the last 10 minutes and 12 guitar solos of Phish.  My warm feeling about the career of Freddie Prinze Jr. remains.

SATURDAY:

10:00am–  I wake up with plenty of time to make it to The Stone Foxes at 1:25pm.  I receive a greasy, good morning stroke-job from the lady.  I crave brussel sprouts and a fresh tin of Copenhagen.

11:00am–  The lady claims she will be ready in plenty of time for us to make it to The Stone Foxes, but is not making any discernible movement toward readiness.

11:30am–  She is still in bed.  No signs of preparation for the day.  She is, however, very chatty.  She keeps talking about the legacy of Charles & Eddie, while I try to steer the conversation toward what it would be like to be ready to leave the house.

12:10pm–  I rip the blankets off the bed.  She makes her way down the hall to the shower.  I hop in with her, and we both have a hearty laugh when I piss on her legs.

12:30pm–  I am dressed and ready.  She is still involved in some arcane pursuit in the shower.

1:00pm–  She has been sitting in front of the mirror doing hair and make-up for at least 20 minutes.  She says she will be ready shortly.

1:45pm–  I have given up on The Stone Foxes.  I am now simply hoping that we will make it to the first round of DU interviews, which begin at 3:15pm.

2:45pm–  No one who works for Outside Lands seems to know where the press tent is, but we go with the most confident sounding guess we hear.  I don’t like being late.  And 12 beers would really hit the spot right now.

3:05pm–  I chug my first 4 Heineken at the press tent.  The delirium tremens begin to subside.  The catering trays have been savaged with such thorough brutality that it makes me proud to be a musician.

3:15pm–  Interviews are fun.  OK GO are onstage.  I keep daydreaming about smashing my Droid Eris.

4:30pm–  We make our way to the artist hospitality area.  A splendid spot.  Hard liquor, unlimited Pop Chips, and bathrooms so nice that I force myself to take a dump.

4:45pm–  Arctic Monkeys.  I like ‘em.  I feel like playing some really aggressive tennis.

5:30pm–  I sell a 13-year old girl a cup of beer for 20 bucks.  Joke’s on her because it’s Heineken Light.

6:00pm–  We find a tiny, unlabeled ziploc baggie stuffed with ten pills.  After .07 seconds of deliberation I wolf down two of them.

7:00pm–  I am deeply enjoying The Black Keys, but for some reason I can’t stop crying and thinking about my Father.  So many people love me.  I need to shit again.

9:00pm–  While watching Muse an opera comes to me.  It’s called “The Soup is Fine, Danny Razor.”  I compose it in my head on the spot.  I am pleased.  Unfortunately, I have forgotten all of it by the time we get home.  My warm feeling about the career of Freddie Prinze Jr. remains.

SUNDAY:

7:00am–  I’m up.  Excited, and strangely nervous, which is rare for me.  The lady and I watch some amateur porn, eat some Mueslix and order six bad paintings of baby minotaurs on eBay for less than three dollars, including shipping.  I feel less nervous.

8:00am–  I shower while drinking some gin and juice I smuggled out of the hospitality area yesterday.  I have some post-nasal drip, and the gin is probably not helping.  Or maybe it’s the juice.

9:00am–  The lady, Jake and I load the truck and head to Tyson’s house to meet up and gather the rest of the gear.

9:50am–  We meet with Jason and Kevin and caravan to the Twin Peaks stage.  It’s chilly.  The stage crew is extremely friendly and helpful with moving our gear.

10:10am–  Soundcheck.  The stage is large, and thankfully so, because Deadmau5′ humongous, angular riser is already onstage.  We have been provided with a bottle of Bulleit bourbon and the weather suddenly feels less chilly.

11:15am–  We are all in the trailer.  I have probably tippled a little more than necessary.  We are doing some warm-up singing together, which never happens, so I must not be the only one with nerves.  The overall mood is light and happy, though.  We are excited.

12:00pm–  We’re on.  A great showing from the people at this early hour, and by the end they lose their shit just like they do late-night.  A lot of familiar faces in the crowd.  I am, as they say, “on one.”  Good times.

1:00pm–  We get all the stuff off the stage, and then we’re off to the merch tent to hang with people and sign discs and whatnot.  We ride in a golf-cart, which is always fun.  I hit a pigeon with a bag of Pop Chips.

1:30pm–  Wonderful to see lots of friends and fans waiting for us at the merch tent.  I’m feeling sentimental.  I look around for a ripe young tit for Jason to sign.

2:30pm–  Tyson and I are whisked away in the golf-cart to the press tent for more interviews.

2:55pm–  First interview is over and we’re waiting for the next crew to arrive.  Tyson is chatting with some people.  I notice a nice, unpopulated patch of grass that faces the Lands End stage.  I decide to go relax on it for a couple minutes.

3:25pm–  The lady is overhead, saying that nobody could find me.  Evidently I have been asleep.  I’m gonna have a vicious bandana tanline.  More interviews.  I have a hazy memory of meeting Tommy Lee.  He is a nice man.

4:10pm–  Wanted to see Julieta Venegas, but it’s too late.  Back in the golf-cart to the trailer to change into civilian garb.  I gotta get a golf-cart someday.

4:45pm–  John Fogerty absolutely kills.  I wonder where he picked up that accent, having grown up in El Cerrito.

6:45pm–  Time to check out the dinner tent.  We sit at a table with Kevin, Tyson and his fiancee.  Tyson is still dressed in the Colonel’s whites, and is hip-deep in a blackout.  His eyes seem very far away.  He wants to smuggle an additional plate of food outside the tent to a friend, but keeps knocking shit over.  Tyson’s fiancee begs us to help her manage him.  We politely decline.

8:00pm–  In a daring, contrarian move, the lady and I head to Deadmau5 instead of Arcade Fire.  It probably has to do with the bag of pills we found yesterday.  We proceed to get down.

10:00pm–  Outside Lands is over.  Time to get out.  We say our goodbyes to each other and to the kind crew of the Twin Peaks stage, load the gear again and join the slow procession out of the park.  There is a lingering odor of people getting their fuck on in the cab of my truck.  We head to Jake’s studio to put the gear away.  Cops are out in force tonight.

11:00pm–  Exhausted beyond measure, but deeply happy, I park the truck and stroll up to our apartment.  There are a couple of police officers waiting out front.  They want to talk to me about a hit-and-run that occurred on Friday.  My warm feeling about the career of Freddie Prinze Jr. remains.