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- 11.14.05 -- Some tail in two cities... by Bryan So lots has happened since the last journal entry. We have a new drummer, Phylshawn, and are writing a new album. I know a lot of you will be missing Kevlar, as we do, but I’m sure you’ll agree that Phyl is a fitting replacement. I won’t go into the details of the decision to part ways with Kevin, only that it was a hard and painful process that we hope not to have to go through again; and we continue to wish our friend O’Seibes life, liberty, and a strong liver. On a similar note, our faithful vessel and traveling cohort Grey Willie, a.k.a. “the grey ghost” is no longer with us. Yes, it’s true we have a new van, The Cluuub. We’ve parked it in the bat cave and are keeping its distinguishing paint job secret to prevent any further pooings, details later. Now onto the funny business... We recently traveled to Kansas City and Omaha to play a couple of shows at some of our favorite stomping grounds, but the events of the weekend were anything but routine. There was a cosmic aura surrounding the trip and it provided the chance for me to do a little psychoanalysis. Here’s what I found. Part One: Condiment = catsup, or I didn’t come for canola , butter is better. Do not, under any circumstances or pretenses deny Wes catsup, or ketchup as you Yankees say, with his hotdogs. He has an unparalleled fondness for the tangy rich condiment. Suggesting that one should keep it simple and use some mustard instead, will likely bring on the full force of Wes’ hatred and malice, a force that is not to be trifled with. Likewise, one should be alerted to the fact that the doxies keys man would like his questions answered directly, skirting around the issue will put you in bad favor. As we sped along the interstate at a pace even the Grey Willie would be impressed with, Wes related the time when some “pretentious prick” at a theater informed him that the popcorn had the perfect amount of canola oil after Wes asked if butter were available. Imagine the nerve! No butter and no catsup! Understandably, Wes was infuriated. Mmm Mmm Mmm, I know I’m usually the last one to advocate violence, but in this case I have to concur with Wes and call for the angry mob style tar and featherin for that hipster. Part Two: Here we are now, entertainers or how to paint your face blue and call yourself an “artist”. Our favorite bar in KC is Mikes Tavern. We fell in love with a bartender there years ago, and kept coming back to the place to see her even though stage and sound sucked. Well, she’s long gone, though I dare say forgotten, and the place now has a great remodeled stage and excellent sound man. We got lumped onto a bill after the fact and though we didn’t fit very well stylistically, we were nonetheless appreciative for the opportunity to rock. We went on first at about ten o’clock after the Chiefs defeated Miami in the rare “let’s play pigskin on Friday cause a fucking hurricane is coming” game. People were hyped and some old friends showed up so we did our thing. We are all still getting adjusted to Phyl on drums, and so the night offered some refreshing and unexpected musical improvisations. Wes rendered a absolutely incredible keys line on the breakdown of “High Road” and Phyl and I got x-tra funkified on post guitar solo “16 and the Sea”. Brent provided the Rock-n-roll stage presence as always, and Tim had the presence of mind to catch him when he almost fell, despite the fact he was in the middle of a face melting lead line. The next act was Sedated, a hip hop artist. He had a shaved head with his head, face and neck painted half blue. He later explained that he always painted his face in a different design before shows after he had a good response to the gimmick at a “Hollywood gig”. I didn’t know what to expect when I saw a guy dressed as a native american dancing on stage and another man gallop onto the stage with a horse head on a stick and gun the native down with a semi automatic paint ball gun fully equipped with a laser sighted scope. As the native lay dying a coffin was ominously carried to the stage, and out popped Sedated. He rapped like this, and then he rapped like that, then he rapped like this, and then he brought it back down and rapped like that. The crowd was intrigued, especially after he produced a three foot rubber dildo and casually asked, “How many ladies in the club could take this?” Well you see what I’m getting at. We sat in the green room attempting to get a self portrait of the band using a digital camera with a timer. We tried for at least an hour. That’s the downside of digital cameras, you can instantly see that you’re a shitty photographer and if you’re stubborn or have a legitimate need for a certain photo you’ll keep trying to you get it. We only stopped when the smell of bacon permeated our domain. The last band Bacon Shoe had taken the stage. It consisted of a hip hop duo and third member with a giant pumpkin on his head frying bacon on stage. It smelled really good, especially since I am a vegetarian and haven’t eaten bacon in years. And the tunes were really good too, so we forgot our photographical failings for the time being. Part Three: Shove the map up your ass you prick, or At least I paid my tab. We prepared to leave the club, and I took the wheel in the Cluuub. A couple of members had “forgotten” to pay their tabs, so certain other members “requested” that they fulfill their duties to our friendly and quite hospitable hosts. The request was honored but not after significant drunken bally hoo. So with tensions high, I set off down the road. I turned the wrong way on the road for the nearest exit, but was heading in ultimately the right direction, if on the wrong road. Tim entreated me, as a former resident of the region, to turn the van around to go back to the “easiest exit”. As I realized I was heading in the right direction on the wrong road, I pulled over and attempted to look at a map to find another route to our destination. Folks, that was the wrong move. Never, ever, look at a map in Tim’s presence. The result of severe psychological trauma as an infant, Tim has an immense hatred for maps. Ask him to explain it to you sometime, but not if he’s been drinking, the emotions just run too high. I acquiesced, sensing the panic and severe disillusionment in Tim’s voice and back tracked several blocks to the club to get on the hwy. As we drove north on the hwy I casually pointed out the 41st Street on ramp, and that we had stopped and backtracked at 39th Street. It was the wrong thing to fucking say. Part Four: Welfare Breakfast, or When Cosmic Chaos Theory is put to the test, better laminate your flyers. We had a nice sleep at a friends house north of KC. They got up early and left to watch the MU vs Nebraska game in Columbia. They were nice enough to let us sleep in, so when Tim and I awoke, I proposed a run to a grocery store to make some breakfast. It’s not often that you have a kitchen at your disposal while on the road, it’s great because you can eat healthy and cheaply, especially cheaply when you use food stamps. I diplomatically asked Tim if he would guide me to the nearest market, so I wouldn’t have to use the dreaded m-a-p and y-e-l-l-o-w-p-a-g-e-s to find it. Talk about pouring salt into a wound, sometimes my humor is wasted on these doxitos. I whipped up some breakfast and we watched The Outlaw Josie Wales on VHS. That guy really kicked ass, and totally represented for Missouri. Then we went back to sleep. When we woke we found that MU had beaten the Huskers quite handily. This held special significance since we are from Columbia and were traveling to play a show at the 49'r in Omaha. You see, there is this metaphysical sage that bartends up there named Quami, I think his real name is Chris, but when a guy tells you to call him Quami, well, you don’t argue. He’s a huge huskers fan, as most of those folks up there are, and he’s noticed a peculiar pattern of Nebraska losing to Missouri when we come to town. To test his theory we booked a show on game day, and as expected the destiny was fulfilled. Now I don’t know or even pretend to know how The Doxies and where we travel has an impact on collegiate sports, but Quami knows. When we arrived he was quite pissed at himself for letting this go down. When I asked the other bartender if they hadn’t receive the flyers we had sent, he said, “Yeah we got ‘em, and they were all hanging up until about the fourth quarter.” Part Five: The irritable innkeeper, or Sexually frustrated red necks don’t play well with others. The show at the Niner was cool. Our good friends Wormwood Scrubs from STL opened the show and debuted there new drummer. There intensity level was high, and it set the tone for the evening. We went on second and played to an intimate audience. Some old friends from Hong Jyn Corp showed up and made the night extra special. We headed out of town after the show with Gray Willie hot on our tail (we passed him on to Wormwood) and ended up in Hamburg, the cornerstone, of Iowa. We rolled in to the local Inn and I knocked on room 32 to wake the sleeping night manager. “What?”, she screamed after the second round of knocking. “I need a room,” I replied. A few moments later a pink bathrobed lady emerged and I recognized her from the last time the doxies had been through. I commented about how I had errantly taken the key last time and then mailed it back to spark her memory of us, but she really didn’t give a shit about me or my story. We got two rooms, one for us and one for the scrubs, and upon opening my door I saw there was only one bed. I hadn’t asked for two beds, nor did we really need them since we carry an arsenal of sleeping bags when traveling, but had assumed all rooms were doubles since we had gotten one last time. Back to room 32. “What the hell do you want!?” screeched the irritable innkeeper upon a second disturbance. “I’d like two beds, please.” I squeaked. Out she emerged and I explained how I had assumed there would be two beds since there was during our last stay. As expected, she didn’t give a rats ass for my tale. As she unlocked the door to the office she mentioned it would be twenty bucks more for a double. My mental calculator immediately sprang to action and I realized that it was either two beds or enough gas to get home for the doxies. I told her I didn’t need the double after all. She was really mad. While I was negotiating with the innkeeper Wormwood and the other Doxies decided the best thing to do at three am in Hamburg was to go across the street with our case of MGD to Shotgun Genies, an establishment of questionable morals. We made our way over, all nine of us, to the club and talked our way into an extremely cheap flat rate using the “we’re really cool traveling musicians” line. Genies was everything one could hope for in that sort of a place. It was full of black lights and even the dancers who weren’t on stage were in the proper uniforms. Although the place was packed with men and women, what else is there to do in Hamburg, everyone immediately seemed to notice the new folks and word spread that we were “in a band.” I was sitting back and keeping an eye on everyone when I noticed Brent making friends with Phoenix, a busty redhead who had just left the stage. She had her cell phone out typing something in, when some guys across the stage began to get a little uneasy with the attention we were getting. I heard one of them yell,”We don’t like you frat faggots at our club.” Now this instantly exposed the fact that none of these young drunkards had ever seen a college or left Hamburg for all I know, because the last thing the doxies and wormwood look like are a bunch of frat boys. We all played it cool and ignored the guys while the occasional slurred insult was thrown our way. When Ed, the bass player for Scrubs, and I noticed the local boys slowly gathering guys to there corner we decided to pull the plug on the evening. I followed his lead, he’s much more experienced than myself, and stuck an empty beer bottle into my jackets inside pocket. If these boys wanted to start some trouble, we were gonna make sure they got it. I casually walked to the stage and told my compadres it was time to leave, they evidently hadn’t noticed the posse gathering across the room or if they did they had really let that Josie Wales shit get into their brains. I think those red necks were a little too drunk and by the time they got together enough guys to seriously pose a threat to us, we were long gone. That’s all there is to that story, except there is still the issue of The Pooing of Gray Willie. It really deserves another journal entry though. I’ll try to get Wes to write it, he’s really pissed and has declared war on the perpetrators. Till next time.... - 06.30.05 -- Tijuana Taxi Trip... by Lar Doxy Hey all, lar doxy here with tales of my recent adventures in beautiful Tijuana, Mexico. It all started in beautiful downtown Lajolla, California on a crisp clean morning. I was waiting for the bus to take me to the trolley station that would then whisk me south to Mexico. My girlfriend had opted to spend the day walking on the beach, because she was wary of the mexican environment after hearing tales of robbery, kidnapping and other forms of foul play that are genereally associated with areas plagued by poverty. I was not afraid however. I had never been this close to Mexico (approx. 1 hour by public transit), and was hell bent on having a Baja experience. So after an easy trip to the end of the trolley line, I exited the relative safety of the large red train and entered a world of Spanish speaking confusion. Sure, there were Americans all around me, but they were travelling in groups of at least two or more. I was now wishing my ladyfriend (or any friend) had joined me, but there was no way I was about to let my better judgement get the best of me. Hell no, I was gonna see what was happening regardless of the consequences (which is the way I've gotten into all the trouble that I ever have in my life). I must start listening to Jiminy Cricket occasionally, for he is a wise old grasshopper, and I am but a foolish young man. Anyways, I met a friendly couple of mexican gentlemen who offered me a variety of their wares ranging from handmade stained glass artwork to prescription meds to methamphetamines. I passed on two of their offers, because I could not afford their glass art, and I do not as they so eloquently put it, "smoke the crystal." So a pill and a cervesa or two later, and I was feeling both jubilant as well as in dire need of restroom facilities. There were, however, none to be found. I discovered what I thought to be a vacant alley, and had my satisfaction discreetly out of public view between a garage and dumpster. Little did I know there was a police officer on a bicycle watching me enter and leave the alley. he had not seen anything, but told me to wait right where I was. I was not thinking as clearly as I could have been, and decided my best option was to make like I was going to Taco Bell and run for the border. Bad, BAD idea! I was also not running quite as fast as I felt I was capable of either apparantly, and he had plenty of bicycle backup, and after they stopped me and determined I could not afford the bribe they needed, I found myself handcuffed to a Mexican in the back of a pickup. All together I imagine I spent 2 or more hours in custody. Essentially it entailed me being driven across the city to a precinct, and then a few more blocks to a holding cell. I met some rather unsavory characters in the drunk tank, and I was glad to be released after only a short time as the only white boy or "gringo" surrounded by a variety of tattooed smelly mexicans. Not that all Tijuanans are tattooed or smelly, but this group certainly was. I don't imagine I was looking my best at that point either though. So after no paperwork, or processing was administered, I was dumped out on the street with 3 dollars(in mixed currency). Luckily it was just enough to get a Tijuana taxi back to the border in order to repeat my journey from earlier that day in reverse order and return to my frantic (and extremely angry) girlfriend who had spent a more or less relaxing day at the beach. The only sress on her was wondering if i was dead after I returned about ten hours later than I said. I had my adventure, but if ever I go to Mexico again I will be sure it is with my Spanish speaking brother, or my Doxie brethren, for I am far to irresponsible to be left to my own devices. The moral to be found in my tale is this; don't be a dumbass like me. From the relative security of COMO, this is Lar doxy here wishing you all safe returns from your travels. - 02.08.05 -- Dear Journal.by Timmy Doxie The last weekend of January Brent and I went to St. Louis to hang with and our good friend and engineer Jason Rook. We went into it knowing that it was going to be the final mixing session, for better or worse, on the 31st day of January the record had to be done. Fueled by coffee, booze and smokes we finished mixing the album at 6 am January 31st. The final touch ended up being some bird sounds recorded at the St. Louis Zoo by Jason and Brent. I was exhausted and decided to just kick it at the studio while to two of them carried a mid 70s tape machine around the tropical bird house. Apparently the friendly staff at the zoo donated a cart to haul the reel to reel around and even made suggestions as to what birds would sound the best. Well, that's the Midwest for ya'. So, Monday we had the finished copy in hand and made our way back home to get some last minute rehearsal time in before the big Doxie homecoming show on Friday, February 5th. The hard work paid off and the show Friday was, in my opinion, the best show the band has ever played. Kevin and Bryan were named co-MVPs for holding down a solid ass shaking groove all night. But, the real story was how well the band sounded with Wes again, old lovers I guess. - 10.22.04 -- LOW DOWN ROCK FIGHT by bryan After a sufficient cooling down period, we here at the secret headquaters of doxie inc. think it appropriate to shed light on an unfortunate incident that occured in the early hours of 05.29.04 on the rough streets of south city STL. After a show at the Lemmons a beer bottle gracefully sailed through the humid night air and gently shattered against outside wall of the club. This is nothing to be alarmed about, after all what's more satisfying than wrapping up a long night of drinking with wanton destruction, recklace abandon and general debauchery? However, directly beneath the aforementioned wall was the location Wesley had chosen to flirt with a young lady in his charmingly confrontational manner. Luckily injury was avoided as noble Wes drew the woman safely into his arms and away from the shards of falling glass. I turned in the direction from which the bottle had come, tracing its trajectory like the illuminated path of a meteor being drawn into the unrelenting grasp of Earth's gravity. I did not see the bottle thrown, but it seemed the only possible hurler was one of two individuals standing behind me and to the right. One of the individuals was the drummer for Jack Head, a talented band from Carbondale IL whom we had shared the bill with that evening. I approached the pair and expressed my displeasure with the fact that bottles were crashing above the head of doxie morale officer Wesley. They denied involvement, but I nonetheless made my case agianst the use of glass projectiles. No big deal right? Wrong. Shortly thereafter the drummer made his way over to the girl wes was chatting with and began holding her hand. This didn't go unnoticed and the mystery of the flying bottle was seemingly solved as a case of jealous rage. As the scene unfolded tempers flared, it was all that security could do to keep wes from physically engaging the alleged hurlee. Security got a steaming wes into the Gray Ghost van peaceably and without further incident. The PR team sprang into action to assure our comrades in rock that there were no hard feelings, although Jack Head continued to claim innocence. Upon returning to the Gray Ghost and preparing to enter and depart the drunken Carbondale mob threw some insults our way, attempting to instigate confrontation. We ignored them and got into the van, however, the driver took matters into his own hands and retaliated.... this email was received the next evening. "Hi, Cecil from Jackhead here. I'm just going to clear the air about what happened the other night. The girl who threw the bottle is someone who was obviously annoying and drunk. I don't know her and I don't know what her fuckin problem was. She blamed it on our drummer and I have no idea why. I talked to several people afer you left and they all had the same story. The dumb bitch and her annoying ass hippie boyfriend. Now I don't know if your buddie/van driver was drunk or what, but there was no call for him to back into our bass player's car 3 times and then take off. That was fuckin stupid. Sincerely, Cecil" So we would like to put the unpleasantries to rest and apologize to Jack Head for backing into their car..over...and over...and over again. No hard feelings. - 01.29.04 -- 7 shows in 9 days Split by: barnacle bryan A good time was had by all during this string of shows (see the tour page for a list of old but not forgotten gigs) from Lawrence KS to KC up through cornhusker territory to the great white north of chi-town then back towards home wrapping up with a bittersweet reunion with Lemmons in stl and at the cafe de musique in "the district" of Columbia. Our new years resolution is to develop a serious fan base in all the cities we consistently play in and we started off on the right foot with this tour. It started in Lawrence at the Replay lounge so named because of its collection of pinball machines, and boy do I sure play a mean pinball. They had one of my favorite games, Attack from Mars "shoot again soldier", so I was glad that I had filled my sock up with quarters in anticipation of the p-ball before leaving home. This bar also had a really great set of black lights that lit me up in my plaid shirt and made me look unusually hip. Wes and Tim both were wearing black and the black lighting showed they needed a little selson blue or head and shoulders or neutragena T-gel, or some other kind of anti-flaking shampoo. Alas, it's true, even the doxies' scalps get dry in the cold midwest winters. We stayed at the classy Jayhawk motel that included the usual bantering with the sleepy owner about how many people were in the van and why we shouldn't have to pay full price cause it was 3:30 am and we had to be out in 7 hours. These late night discussions with half asleep and understandably cranky motel clerks is becoming a mainstay of doxie life on the road because we can't afford nice rooms and we love to shop local. Nonetheless I got a discounted rate by feeding her a string of half truths and some outright lies. Lucky we did too, this was quite possibly the nastiest room available. It is conceivable that they keep this particular room unkempt for just such a late night haggler as myself, but I digress. Anyway, the peice of stale and half eaten (by man or rat) dounut behind the bed said it all. We awoke to wes' irate banter with amanda, an employee of his wireless company as he tried to establish why his phone was shut off when he hadn't recieved a bill and he was "fucking stuck in the shit fuck middle of fucking no where". The answer was that Brent had made some calls to a freind in Canada that evidently were not covered under Wes' plan. So we hit the road sans cell phone coverage and arrived in KC way to early to have nowhere to go. So we went to the place where people who want a warm place serving beer intermixed with sparse physical activity go on friday mornings, the bowling alley. This was quite enjoyable and Tim was really getting into his game after the third round with an equal number of pitchers, his score wasn't improving significantly but he looked damn good with the leg kick. Wes had some problems adjusting to the game without his custom fit ball, he kind of threw the ball onto the lane instead of rolling it, but his scores were good not withstanding. Kevlar O'siebes bowls like a good Irish Germany Catholic should, rather poorly, but don't mention it to him as he is a bit defensive about his athletic prowess. I had the best average of the day but Brent threatened revenge as soon as his busted thumb healed, which he had broken twice in the last two months and that to this day is a lot fatter than the other thumb. Tim and Wes got some good press going on and we had a good turn out at Benders. The club was alright, but the stage only had white lights on it and after a day of drinking and bowling and mexican food washed down with pitchers of margaritas from some guys who thought they'd have a better chance with us if we were drunk (doxies dont swing that way, even for free margs)bright white lights are kind of a drag. But we faired well after a really kind gentleman offered us some hashish for the road (we really appreciate free hash) and we got a nice clean place to crash at Wes' sister and her husbands place. Next it was up to Omaha after a long nights sleep and a healthy breakfast prepared mid afternoon by chefs kev and wes. The tigers won agaisnt oklahoma, as is the case always when doxies go to omaha (call your bookie now, we'll be back in omaha soon)and Chris the bartender at the 49'r informed us yet again of the cosmic happenings that intertwine our band and his city and our cities college sports teams. Not mere coincidence, I assure you. We had the good fortune of finding another freind who graciously allowed us space on his floor to crash then headed off the next day to Lincoln for some bowling and a movie. Tim and Kev skipped bowling for the library, n-e-r-d-s-, and wes took this round with a good average. the movie was 28 grams, and was sub-par in my opinnion, but I am a tough critic. Again the press god smiled upon us and we had a good turn out at Duffy's for the sunday show. That night was good, and we got a good hotel and stayed up way to late drinking master cylinders of Old Style and smoking our gift from KC out of a used can. Then it was home and then off to the Windy City for a chilly nite of rockin at the Subterreanenanean. It is a beautiful club with a good sound system. The only bad thing about this night was that it was really cold -7 and tim and brent were under the weather. Wes left his keys stand there also, but we didn't discover that until the next night at the Lemmons in STL were we played with a couple of cool bands that matched our style. Old man Steve showed up and made it a good time, and also allowed us to stay in a nice room he had arranged for. SOoooo we wrapped in all up in Columbia with Wormwood scrubs at the Music Cafe the next night. Larrisa Dalle sang East to D.C with us, she has a great voice and is quite a looker if jason doesn;t mind me saying so, and I got to talk to ed about getting more work done on the tattoo he's creating on my arm. i also got to use his bass as I broke a string for the first time ever at a show. we had a big ol party at the bass compound to celebrate the end of the road and watched the freezing rain come down to coat everything with ice, we were glad we weren't in it. the end - 12.15.03 -- snowy wichita by: bryan We had a very exciting weekend jaunt down to Wichita last weekend. We were all excited because we were playing at a new club called John Barleycorns. Well, it was new to us. We have had several well recieved trips to the land of Kansas prior to this one, but we had always played at Kirby's Beer Store. It is a really hip punk rock style club, but it is very very small as any who have ever set foot inside can attest to. There have been mutinous grumblings from the lower echelons of club doxie about what might happen if we ever play such a small stage again. So Brent obliged and booked the show at the large and luxurious Braleycorns. The trip was to wichita was going according to schedule. We were 3/4 the way there and all the back seat drivers were 3 sheets to the wind. Then the snow storm hit. We had been expecting it, but the intensity by which it overtook us challenged the Grey Ghost's ability to stay between the mayo and the mustard. The pilot, however, refused to decelerate for fear of ruining the Doxies perfect record of always arriving to the show on time. It is quite disheartening to fly by recently ditched vehicles at about 70 mph on roads where the lines have ceased to exist. However, lot's of praying to heathen gods aided our safe decent into the alley behind the club. The show was well recieved by a very hip looking crowd who had mostly turned up to see Helvis, who we opened for. The show was also unanimously approved by the doxies board of directors and went down into "one on the best show's ever" file. After we played we all got pretty soused and then loaded the van with our heavy machines and fishtailed off into the night. - 11.18.03 -- the show with billy and the foundry assassin squadron by: bryan Dear Journal, It's been so long since we have been together I almost forgot what you smelled like. I promise to never neglect you again. We played at the Outland Ballroom in sunny springfield MO last saturday (Nov 15). the foundry of billy opened the show with a rockin set that would have made a robot proud. They had some really rowdy fans with name tags on. I think they may have been robots in disguise, but that's just between you and me, right journal? Anyway, we played next and had a good time. I think it was rockin, if a bit sloppy due to the intoxication factor of 9.5 kilo joules. It is hard to sound bad at the ballroom, its a great club with an excellent sound system powered by Yankton the gracious host. We were followed by Shaking Tree a group out of Lawrence they put on a good show to wrap up the evening. We stayed at a seemingly abandoned suburban home with a large whirlpool bathtub. A drunken 2am bath with bubbles is a thing to be savored. It did get a little crowded with five guys and a dog though. On a sad note, it was The Doxies first trip without our faithful grey ghost, the whale of a willy whose belly we call home for long portions of our journeys. It had a problem with the trany, and I don't know how to fix a thing like that. Hopefully it will be back in action this weekend for our trip down to Fayetteville. I'll write soon again. I love you journal. - 11.04.03 -- smoove sailing by: Bryan Dear Journal, The Doxies had an exciting weekend jaunt up to Nebraska. We kept our recent tradition of showing up to the bar a wee bit late and unfortunetely missed out on a dinner invitation from our friend Kelly Maxwell (formerly of Hong Jyn presently of Son’s of 49’r) which is an old tradition. Sorry Kelly. The 49’r was very hospitable as usual, despite the fact that every time we come to Omaha the Cornhuskers are defeated. For a metaphysical analysis of this and the interconnectedness of all cosmic comings and goings check in with Chris behind the bar at the 49’r. Tell em the Doxies sent you. We opened up the set with our usual fanfare and played a good one, we were followed by The Son’s of the 49’r who were then followed by Hello from Waveland. Good shows by both bands that featured drunken group singalongs which are par for the course when Mike Jawroski, Kelly, and Doxies get together. I can’t remember anything past that point; the alcohol residue clouds my thoughts…. Sunday morning featured a huge breakfast at the critically acclaimed 11’worth café. Ask Wes about neck tattoos and a large orange juice that was not forgotten. After gorging ourselves we returned to Cory’s house (lead guitar virtuoso of Anonymous American) for a.m. scotch and a basement jam session. Cory can play a mean pedal steel and will be on the next doxies record, cross my heart. We then climbed into the belly of the Grey Whale and headed off to Lincoln where we engaged ourselves with cinematic exploits and some jujubees. The Sunday night show at Duffy’s tavern featured The Doxies with Anonymous American (Omaha) and Hello From Waveland (Seattle). Our set was a little off, but that’s all for the better cause we learned a few things about comradery, the Missouri compromise, and the advantage of sound checks. The others played great. We ate at the 11’worth again the next morning. Synapsis: Missouri State Hood: 1820 (Wes was wrong) Missouri Capitol moved from STL to JC: 1826 (35 years before the civil war, Wes was wrong again) Missouri Compromise: 1820 The Missouri statehood controversy became a national issue as the issue of slavery was debated. The "Missouri Compromise" allowed Missouri to enter the Union as a slave state and Maine as a free state, thus keeping the balance of slave and free states equal in Congress. Although Missouri was allowed to enter as a slave state, the remaining portion of the Louisiana Purchase area north of the 36 30 line was to be forever free of slavery. (Noone was wrong, just clarifying) Human Nature: Inherited or learned? (Pretty sure Wes was wrong on this one too) - 10.13.03 -- Sorry, my sixth finger got in the way.... by: kevin and sent that journal prematurely. Anyway, onto St. Louis where we were to play with The Trailer Park Travoltas at the Off Broadway club (The club in Chicago was called the Beat Kitchen by the way, and was a very cool bar.) After a long drive and a refreshing shower at mama Siebes estate the doxiemobile lumbered toward the club located in the Soulard neck of the St. Louis woods. Great club, great stage, great sound, GREAT show. One of the better performances in Doxie history. After bidding farewell to all our new friends in the lou it was back to CoMo for a nice rest in our own beds before the trek to Omaha on Saturday. The drive to Nebraska was beautiful as always, but we had to be especially careful to fly below the radar when cutting across the top of Iowa seeing as how Wes is a wanted man in that state (which is just one among many for him). He was prepared to go down guns a blazin' if need be, but luckily the law never smelt im. We played another rock show at the 49'er club and enjoyed the hospitality (and scotch) of our friend Cory after the show. Good times. Another early morning ensued as we made our way safely back to Columbia by way of Kansas City with Wes displaying expert driving skills bestowed upon him by his father and the Whiskey Business monster truck racing team. Wishing everyone in doxieland bleary memories and short lived hangovers, we'll see ya'll soon. - 10.13.03 -- a weekend of prayer and reflection by: kevin aloha from doxieland. We just finished a weekend of rocking in the three fine cities of Chicago, St. Louis and Omaha, and I think I speak for all Doxies when I say it's nice to be back home getting up early to get to a shitty, thankless job instead of rocking and boozing into the wee hours. At least Brent finally landed that migrant farming temp position picking oranges down in the sunshine state, but thats another story. The journey to Chicago started on Thursday morning after a nutricious knifey breakfast cooked up by Wes. We rolled into Chi-town while the night was still young, and did a quick sound check before settling in to wait our turn as the closing band on a quadruple bill. We didn't go on until shortly after 1am, but the show rocked and audience response was great. Afterwards we hit a 5am bar to continue consuming. Later, everyone else passed out at a friends house while Wes and I went for late-late tacos and a ms.pac-man tourney. I don't recall who won, but I don't think it was me. - 06.18.03 -- Fall Tour Debrief by: B.R. Madness Here it is. The first edition of the doxy diary. In this section the boys will spill the beans so that all of you will know what we really think of being on the road in a beat-up rusty van… May 3rd CD Release @ Mojo’s in Columbia, Missouri This show was probably one of the top three Doxies shows ever, which is surprising considering the amount of bourbon we drank on stage. It was a special show because my favorite Columbia band, The Kingdom Flying Club, opened the show for us. They are really rocking and on the verge of something...check them out at - 06.13.03 -- 2nd by: Justin This is the second journal entry - 06.13.03 -- First Journal Entry by: Justin This is the first journal entry... |