Through the Country in a Van

Squeeze in 🚐

Hey, y’all.

That’s right, it’s a “hey y’all.” We’ve been listening to country for the last 90 minutes, and any other form of greeting now feels unnatural. What’re y’all gettin’ up to on this fiiiine Wensdee?

Us, we’re driving from Pittsburgh, PA, to Columbus, OH — at least that’s how the day’s starting. We woke up, technically, just outside of Pittsburgh, in Washington, Pennsylvania (we usually like to stay outside of town after a show for van security, and to take a little nibble out of the next day’s drive), at a really quite nice Fairfield Inn & Suites (or something) where we had been able to book the rare TRIPLE TREAT. A TRIPLE TREAT is a room that accommodates all three of us, facilitating enhanced camaraderie, elevated leveles of honhomie, and everybody falling asleep to Hubie Halloween together. (In this case it was Hubie Halloween; it isn’t always. Although often it is. Two nights ago Murray & I (Chris) put on Tom Cruise’s The Mummy, and that was a mistake. For a falling-asleep movie, you don’t want something riveting, obviously, but it doesn’t need to be as terrible as The Mummy. A movie as bad as The Mummy can disturb your sleep as much as bad news from home can, whereas watching Adam Sandler affably stroll through the exact same setups he perfected in the 90s is a real comfort; it leaves a would-be slumberer snug and sluggish, secure in the knowledge that, troubled times though these may be, the world continues to turn.) TRIPLE TREATS can vary in layout, but last night’s was typical: two big-ass giant American beds occupying an acre of bare carpet at one end of the room, with a semi-separated sitting area next to that featuring a fold-out couch. Reader, it was perfect, and we shot out the front doors of the Fairfield at 11 ready to punch the highway in the stomach.

In our invigorated moods, it was totally natural for Keith, as he started up the van, to ask “What’s Morgan Wallen’s deal?” Carne and I didn’t really know, so we put on Morgan Wallen. The verdict is that he’s fine. He sounds a lot like Post Malone, if Post Malone affected a twang instead of focusing so hard on his vibrato. After 40 minutes of Wallen we let Spotify shuffle in some similar artists. It got pretty rough, but there were nice moments. In “Hell of a Way to Go,” Riley Green talks about a couple of situations in which he’d be happy to die. “Sitting on a lake like glass, catching large mouth bass” is one. Sitting at the 50 yard line at an Alabama–Tennessee football game, with Alabama winning (presumably if Tenn. is winning, that’s a bad way to die). Sitting on the porch with yer best gal, naturally. One thing is for sure: Riley Green prefers to die sitting. In Parker McCollum’s “Handle on You,” he’s drinking to forget the love he’s just lost, and he’s starting to wonder if booze is the best way to deal with it, but it’s working, so he’s not about to stop — “after all this back and forth, a fifth won’t do,” he sings, explaining why he needs a full handle of whisky. Lainey Wilson’s “Heart Like a Truck” was the only female voice Spotify offered us, but we can’t remember what she sang about, can’t recall why she thinks her heart is similar to a truck. Maybe because of how much it can carry, in terms of pain but also love?

I realize that you probably expect us, as professional musicians and songwriters, to have surveyed our field extensively and to display casual mastery of each genre, but we really don’t know shit about country. I mean, we aren’t even sure Morgan Wallen is country. Maybe he’s “cowboy pop,” or “progressive country.” Maybe he’s “hick hop.” And Parker McCollum — that dude could be “americana” or “bro-country,” I guess. Is Lainey Wilson “Nashville sound”? We simply wouldn’t know. If you’re reading this and have a grip on country, feel free to provide us with a road map, or a “getting started” guide, or just a few suggestions, in the comments. We are stupid men, yes, but not incurious.

The North American tour is off to a wonderful start. Toronto was terribly nice, and Pittsburgh put pie into our pockets (metaphorically speaking. What, you wouldn’t be happy if someone or something put pie right into your pocket? You sure would be!). Now, as I type this sentence, we’re sitting on the back porch of our Columbus house rental, which we’ll occupy for two nights. A low, warm sun is shining; the sky is clear and the air is 66 degrees. There’s a firepit in the yard, and in the living room a TV the size of a door on its side, ringed by three soft couches, so probably our plan to go see Killers of the Flower Moon at seven is doomed. Sitting in a movie theater for three-plus hours, after spending half of each of the last four days sitting in a van, feels like the wrong move. Especially when we could be sitting next to a firepit, or sitting on a soft couch watching a don’t-fall-asleep movie. All of these would be a Hell of a Way to Go, I guess. Even sitting in a van, because it’s not like we’re driving to the grocery store or the dump — we’re connecting the dots on one of the most essential tours of 2023 in the genre of rock & roll (cowpunk? countrypolitan?).

Lots of recorded music coming down the pike on this blog, plus further road reads. Do not block.

❤️♥️💜

Chris realizing there’s a scorpion on his foot. (Just kidding: he started to get up before the camera timer was done.)