Cool With Hummus – The Coke Dares Tour Diary Pt. 5

You're staring at their watches, but their minds are really the diamonds

The Coke Dares are an American rock and roll band, currently on tour in America.  They’re being kind enough to document their journey for Postcard Elba.  Go behind the music with these unplugged storytellers for the best week ever!

Once again, we’re actually busy at our day job today – so sadly this post will be sans funny image interruption. – PE

Asheville, NC as reported by Beach Dawg

The couch on which I awoke had molded my body — a half a foot too long for that particular piece of furniture when used as a bed — into the most comfortable position possible. Therefore, when I awoke, four and a half hours after to going to sleep, in the direct sunlight, I didn’t mind the pool of sweat around my face, nor could I argue with the drool, because the couch had molded me, and I was beholden to the couch.

I moved my creaky body to the floor and was greeted by our host’s dog, Marcy. Marcy is a huge boxer that is too big for the house. She’s older, so she has to shake in a way that makes her appear to be a small mechanical horse in order to turn around. And she prefers being scratched on the ass. Elsewhere makes her a little nervous, I think.

The order of the morning was amazing Atlanta Mexican food. Mark and I had been warned by Pete that it would be, as they say, out of this world. Salsa bar, neverending guacamole — it sounded too good to be true. We all slowly got ourselves ready for the excursion. Staying with a family can be a bit awkward sometimes. While we are the most polite of guests, any time an outside force is introduced into a world where rules are established on a daily basis, something is bound to be awkward. Kira, Kelsey and Kristy’s daughter (the host family), wandering into the bathroom while Pete was in the shower, was the moment that showcased that disruption this time. Wow, wasn’t mom embarrassed! This would be the first time on tour that a mom would be made embarrassed because of the presence of us in the house. We would cause that to happen at least one other time, unwittingly, and with great humor. But that’s another story for another blog.

We finally got out of the house, family and band in tow. We wanted to get to Asheville early to hang with Pete’s brother (a resident), but, as usual, the more people you add to an equation, the harder it is to get something done, especially when it comes to eating. Atlanta, like Indianapolis, is a sprawling mess, and the delicious Mexican place was a fifteen or twenty minute drive away. When the six of us arrived, it was packed — and for good reason. You could tell immediately it would be worth the wait.

But we waited. Our waitress, as Kelsey said, didn’t seem “too concerned with being a waitress.” I watched as she hid behind the salsa bar, crouched down, eating chips and salsa. That made the wait even longer — but didn’t stop the crack team of other employees from delivering our lengua tacos, our barbacoa sopes, or our stewed goat, and certainly didn’t keep us away from the mild peanut salsa, the hot habanero salsa, the cactus salad, the pico de gallo, or the guacamole at the bar. It was all worth it.

Full, feeling terrible, tired, and cranky, we hopped in the hot van and began our trip to Asheville. When it was time to stop for gas we ended up in mall hell, where no gas stations were available, but there were plenty of stores that rely on big oil and SUV driving assholes to fund them. We hadn’t had any coffee, and the cranky had begun. When the Costco gas pumps said “members only” I thought I was going to have to call off tour and live at the Bed Bath and Beyond. The gas was found, the Starbucks was cold, and the road was long and filled with the sound of Tres Hombres on cassette.

We made it to beautiful Asheville, NC, and it struck me then — Asheville, you’re beautiful, but won’t any of you come to our show tonight? It was one of two shows on the tour that we needed help to get, so the prospects weren’t the greatest. What was the greatest, though, was hanging out with Pete’s brother, Ander. He greeted us at his beautiful house with cold Sierra Nevadas and a warm smile. We talked shit about everything, like, apparently, men do, while a party full of kids played on the half-pipe in his backyard. Some of them peeked over the fence. Mark said, “It’s awesome to finally be on this side of the fence.”

We drove on down to Broadways, the show location, and found our way into the private club. I don’t know how those things work, but we signed our name and suddenly we were all somebody. The show featured my favorite sound guy in North Carolina — The Coke Dares! A small P.A., a weird, deep stage, and a big, wooden room. The other band, Kovacs and the Polar Bear, were setting up. They seemed like a group of alright dudes, with beards and hair and eyes, who had pleasant voices, and would wind up sounding a bit like My Morning Jacket, Neutral Milk Hotel, and a slew of other bands I admire, whilst still making it their own.

The night was beautiful, the vegetarian food from next door was delicious, and Ander got busted for bringing an outside beer into the bar. His logic was correct, but, just like the rules of a family, the bar is a no-man’s-land when it comes to outside beverages. They were cool with hummus, though.

There was a DJ spinning awesome late 60s psych and rock (Stooges, MC5, Sabbath, etc.), and then Kovacs and the Polar Bear hit the stage. I found myself wandering, and, due to my incredibly torn-up throat, decided to try a cold hot toddie. In other words, water, Maker’s, and lemon. It tasted like terrible, terrible shit. And I don’t think it worked.

And surprise! Lots of people were there. After the Kovacs set I assumed we would drive everyone out. Much to our surprise, they liked it. Watched it. Danced to it. Laughed at it. Pete’s mic cut out constantly. No one could hear any vocals. But it was still awesome. That intangible tour feeling when something you don’t expect to go well really does.

Our promoter was excited. The bartender didn’t hate us. The other band liked us. And the van still worked, so we loaded it up and drove back to Ander’s house, where we proceeded to, despite our best interest, stay awake for much longer than we should before our incredibly long drive to DC the next day. The porch was comfortable. The dog was as strange as the first dog of the day. She really liked wagging her tail, and eating rocks, and would beat the shit out of the siding with her tail, worrying us all that we would wake up the others in the house. Finally, sweet retirement came in the form of a carpeted floor in a really, really cold room. That night I dreamed of New England clam chowder made with seitan, and how Marc Bolan may have been the spokesperson for such a product. Wishful thinking, for real.

The Coke Dares tour is over…for now…but you can still enjoy their exploits here at PE for the rest of the week as we post the rest of their tour diary.

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