Dylan Storey and the Maxwell Division - winter tour 2009

Tour Diary First gig in Raglan, Reb is away with her dying Grandmother so it’s just us boys. Pick up hire van – load up with gear and head in to pick up the CDs front the printers. Shit – they’re not ready. After already having been through a multitude of proofs and corrections and delays over the last few weeks we are about to start the tour and they’re supposed to be done. But the guy who assured me they’d be ready is away sick today. They say there’s nothing they can do. I explain the situation and they agree to rush through a few hand assembled ones which they do but now we’re running late and catch rush hour traffic.
Finally we’re off though with Scott’s mix CDs blasting and distorting the crap stereo. It’s a beautiful day as we pass through the Waikato plains. Until – we over the mountains out to the coast where it stars pissing down. Typical. We get to the venue and set up. We forgot the drum carpet so the bar lends us one – problem is it absolutely reeks. Oh well. It only goes so far in deadening the sound of the all wood stage and bar. A band of our volume is echoing all over the place at soundcheck.
Manning the door means dealing with some locals who don’t want to pay. One particular grey haired old lady outright refuses and just walks in. What can you do? But then…… she has the gall to leave and ask demand her money back. “But you didn’t even pay….” She becomes aggressive but I won’t back down and she ends up walking off cursing and muttering something which I imagine is about ‘the war’ and ‘back in my day….’.
Despite the weather a reasonable crowd turns up. Billy Squire has come down as a replacement support act. His personality and authentic Americana sound wins over the audience and gets them on our side. We go on and yes we are loud – but the people have a few drinks under their belt by now and are into it. Hot girls dancing means men are buying drinks and the bar is happy and all have a good time. The bar staff buy some CDs and ask us back. We set off back to Auckland that night with much of the trip being through the thickest mist I’ve ever seen, reducing our speed to about 50km/hr. First leg breaks even.

Next weekend we’re off to Hamilton, pick up hire van load up gear and off. First stop is More FM for an interview. Greg Prebble is a great guy and this goes well. But I’m starting to feel sick. Weird cause I haven’t been sick for a few years. I have been working like a madman to get the album out though.
We find the venue and set up and soundcheck. We are using some of The Shrug’s gear. They are a top bunch of guys and a great band. Also the PA guy Chris is great and all is going well (we had a last minute venue change because of a double booking which has been a major hassle but all sorted now).
We head off for something to eat and I’m feeling like shit. Back to the venue where Reb opens to a captive audience earning her more admirers. The Dusk – a young local band play with their parents encouraging them. A cross between The Checks and The Datsuns they are enjoyable. I’m doing the door and am shaking badly. I guzzle some Neurofen and we go on and I manage to make it through the set without collapsing. We pull it off and people love it, especially the 10 min psychedelic jam to finish. Then the Shrugs play but I have to go sit in the van and shiver. I can hear them through the wall and I’m surprised at how many songs I know.
Back to my friend John’s flat where we camp on the floor. I wake up many times wet with fever sweat in my sleeping bag. The show must go on.

Saturday morning we thank John who has been awesome and head off to the fruit shop. We eat fruit and I eat raw garlic. We meet up with some people who drop off some speakers, it’s some crazy scheme of Reb’s where we deliver some gear to Wellington as a return favor for a place to stay in Wellington.
It’s a long drive with the snowy Desert rd being the highlight. After a few stops for Scott’s obsessive teeth cleaning regime we arrive in the cold, wet, windy capital. Soundcheck goes well – Warwick at Happy is great. The band head off for some food but we’re running late so I grab a kebab and start the door. A large crowd turn up – strange – I didn’t think we we’re this popular. Ahhh - the other band, Taboosister contains two very attractive women who it turns out are also Burlesque dancers. Not to detract from their music which is great but this explains the capacity crowd. This also means that many people leave after they finish but a good amount remain who are here to see us. Again we are louder than people expect culling a few more but the remaining punters are into it and we rise to the occasion delivering a more aggressive than usual set. Unfortunately one of the band partook in a few too many mulled wines resulting in a somewhat mistake ridden set. All this leads to a ferocious ending of our final jam which is finished abruptly but a successfully blown bass speaker. Rock and Roll.
The owner of the speaker wants compensation but he had said before the set that he was hoping it would make it through the set as there was smoke coming out of it yesterday. I reckon this frees us from responsibility. We hi-tail out of there. We have to pick up the key to the place we’re staying from a guy who is out dancing at a Michael Jackson tribute night. Reb wants us to go dancing. I’d rather lose a testical. We wait for half an hour in the van while Reb collects they key. We head off to the place but we don’t have the directions quite right so end up driving round for about half an hour. Finally we find it and load all the gear in (never ever leave music gear in the van). Then the owner arrives home with his party mates still going strong. We manage to find a side room though, and sleep on cushions on the floor. Next day is a long, tired drive back.

The first mission of the South Island leg starts when we get to the airport and realise that we're grossly overweight and Jetstar are notoriously inflexible on this issue. I should have worked it out in advance but I have been horrendously sick the last few days and haven't been able to get out of bed. This also means that I'm quite delirious. We weigh in at 57 kg over weight and it costs $10 per kg. We commence having a brutal argument with the check in person who has to call her supervisor who proves to be miss Icy-even-more-non-negotiable. We threaten to make them recall our baggage and they threaten to not let us on the plane. Faced with an ultimatum we realise the show must go on and have to bite the bullet and put the excess on Visa cards for consequences to be suffered later. We are challenged again about our excessive hand luggage getting on the plane. Some fast talking gets us through. A spotty clerk says to Scott "what is the contents of the case sir?", his end of tether under breath reply was "bombs". Airline officials love jokes like this. Words are spoken into ears and soon a more official looking official hurries up to us - "Just to confirm sir, what did you say the contents of the case is?". "Drums". “Oh - have a nice trip".
Things are made even more interesting by the fact that one of the band has issues with flying and is 3/4 of the way through a bottle of brandy in a water bottle. (Its 9:00 am). Depressed and numb we arrive in Queenstown airspace, circle for 1/2 hour and are told we can't land, turns out Jetstar don't have the equipment to land in cloud but still they sell tickets to Queenstown. We are diverted - not to Invercargill or Dunedin - turns out they don't have license to fly there - but to Christchurch. This puts us 7 - 8 hours away from our destination.
We need to hire a car, but so does everyone - they're all booked out. The band rallies to compensate for my delirium - we race to the other end of the airport and manage to get the last van available (actually turned out cheaper than the Queenstown one we originally had booked). Some amazing talking and shit kicking from Reb manages to secure a refund on the excessive excess baggage fee. The tour is back on track financially but it’s now 3:00 and have a gig in Queenstown. Reb and Brendan share the driving mission - I can't see straight and Scott is sobering up. The ice covered roads of the Mackenzie country shine with an alien blue light as the sun sets on the alps making it look like a beautiful other-worldly landscape. Driving requires intense concentration. I rest in the back trying to keep warm - I find myself strangely comforted in a van as I lived in one for about a year in Scandinavia.
9:45pm, an eternity later, we arrive in Queenstown - there seem to be many people gathered on the street - strange. Arriving at the Dux we learn that the place has been emptied by a major earthquake. Awesome. Luckily the drums and amps have arrived, (took a lot of negotiating during the drive). But - the high hat clutch isn't there. Very small, easy to overlook piece - very important to a drummer.
The band cram some food into our mouths (I still can't eat), and Reb Starts to play. It’s always hard to go on stage after a day like this but Reb is a real pro. She has some fans there and the bar has filled up again despite the occasional aftershock, luckily. Her set goes well and then we play with Scott having to make do with no hi hat clutch. Miraculously we manage to put on a good show - the group slap to wake each other up probably helped. Punters happy, bar happy, band survived.
We amble back to the backpackers and unload all the gear into the tiny dorm - inevitably waking up all surrounding residents as we carry drums and instruments. Getting told off is the least of our hassles.
Thursday morning sees a trip to cafe and chocolate shop. Over Queenstown now, we drive the amazing trip through the mountain passes out into Otago. Black ice makes it still a hairy trip in a dodgy rental van. Arriving in Dunedin we make our way to the university for a Radio One live to air. This is a nice experience with friendly people and a good interview. Out to Port Chalmers for the gig. Chick's bar is a very old gothic building with a hotel upstairs where at least one murder has taken place. My dedicated rationalism tells me there aren't any ghosts but the band aren't convinced. We set up but... there are no drums. Turns out they were taken away last week. Phone call to the manager who phones around and arranges some. They turn up after a while and are little more than child's toys. Shit. The support act, Tono turns up and happens to have drums in his car. We borrow them, the other guy who has obviously gone out of his way to bring the other kit is a bit miffed as we start setting up a different kit in place of his well intentioned one. (Turned out later that we actually broke one of the skins from Scott’s hard hitting – Sorry Tono – will fix you up).
It's freezing in Dunedin and David Kilgour is playing in town. We manage a modest but cool crowd. Tono is great and we play well but probably too loud for the room. What can you do? Sold some CDs but the gig still loses money. Hector the manager is awesome and videoed some of the show. We retire to the hotel where we sleep on squabs in the spare room after the obligatory pillow fight - more force used than necessary due to stress of recent days. No-one got murdered by ghosts during the night luckily. We are woken up at some point during the night by the most amazing sound - like a hundred wailing tones wafting through the air in layers and layers of sound reverberating everywhere. It’s a train coming into the port with all its hundreds of brakes squealing in a different pitch.

Friday morning we let ourselves out of the bar/hotel and drive the icy road to Dunedin where we meet up with Graham Downes who buys us a coffee and we trade albums. Meeting two living legends (Bob Scott was at the gig) makes up for the money loss.
We head off to Chch listening to the Verlaines album - verdict - very good. We arrive at Al's bar by 4:30 as agreed. It’s closed. I head next door to the Harley shop where an old mate I haven't seen for 20 years (thanks Facebook) works. We catch up briefly. He has a wife and kids and a house and boat and shares in the business…..Hhhhmmmm ... I have 5 guitars.
Bar manager is a nutter but the soundguy is great. Usual problems sorting out gear and stage but soundcheck gets done after a few hours. Quick food then start the door. Adam from The Eastern is a real pro despite being very very sick and the bar starts to gain atmosphere. A good crown assembles but it’s a huge bar, any less would seem empty. Reb has fans here too and impresses as usual. Mustard play their set, they are a great band. Our turn - all the ingredients are right but we just don't fire properly, sometimes you just can't find form. I feel everything I say to the audience between songs is completely retarded. Jerk. People seem to like it anyway and we sell a few CDs. The Eastern do their set down on a sidestage where they display their mastery of audience captivation. Some of our band make up for a 95% performance by spending their next week's rent money on getting completely plastered. It turns into a long night and it's late by the time we get back to the house we're staying at (very kind friend letting us use their house). Some of us make it to a bed, some settle for the floor where they collapsed as resting place.

Depite waking up early on Saturday we're running late from the start. Trying to meet the other bands and get a coffee seems to be a tremendous task and we end up setting off for Oamaru in a rush. One of the highlights of the tour for me is playing 'The Wall' start to finish from Chch to Oamaru. The timing of start and end points for the drive is nearly perfect (coincidence....or not??????). Scott and I are in the front and it turns out both old Pink Floyd freaks - we practically sing along with the album start to finish and whip ourselves into a kind of frenzy as side 4 culminates in 'The Trial'. Reb and Brendan are snoozing in the back and think we are weird. We arrive on time but the bar is locked. Trip to the supermarket to get food and we're back in business. The bar is freezing cold but we set up and soundcheck as the pot-belly heats the place. As it heats up it starts to fill up - mainly with people wearing bizzare costumes and masks and painted faces. It's all a bit surreal. Reb has some fans there to and some people who saw us in Queenstown and Dunedin have made the trip and come along. This is the best stage and sound of the tour so far and our mood reflects this. Reb stuns the audience with her set. We go on and it’s obvious that we're louder than people were expecting but after a song or 2 they're into it and up and dancing. We click into gear and play our best set yet. Best door sales and CD sales of the tour rescue the struggling financial situation. The owner there at the Penguin Club is a real legend. He calls us he most innovative band there in the last 10 years along side the Pheonix Foundation. He also lets us stay at his house. We retire back there after some time fraternising with the locals. We are spent - Reb has a Wonder Woman DVD from the 70s and we all get in our sleeping bags to watch it on her laptop. The owner arrives home soon after and asks his partner "where are the band?" - no doubt imagining us out the back getting wasted. She replies "they're all in bed together watching Wonder Woman." He pokes his head into the room and mutters "you sick fucks" and takes a snap shot. Glorious.

Driving back to Chch we prepare for battle at the airport. We get to the check in and its imediately obvious that the girl is already having a bad day. We try weighing in our ridiculously overweight gear. She's not having a bar of it. We're forced to take out anything over our weight limit and carry it as hand luggage. But they inform us that they can't take Reb's amp on board as its over the individual weight limit. This is strange as they flew it here and it’s flown many times before. We ask to see the supervisor who is also completely non-negotiable in true Jet Star style. We demand to see the Baggage manager who turns up and remembers us from the trip down. We point out that he took the amp last time and if we continue to kick up a stink this breach of rules on his part will be exposed. His own arse on the line now he generously makes an exception and lets us on.
Standing with our ridiculously huge pile of hand luggage we meet up with Reb's kids who are dropped off by their grandparents. We hatch a plan to exploit the kids to get our luggage on. They reckon they can cry on demand if necessary. I take all my pedals out of the suitcase and put them in the pockets of my swandri which I wear over all my other layers making it feel like a flak jacket. We all take as much as possible on our person. Scott has headed up to the bar to get 'prepared' to get on the plane. When the boarding call comes we try to distribute the load to make it look smaller. The scanner supervisors take one look at us and say "you're only allowed 10kg each - you can't take all that". Some more fast talking from Reb and an issue with the kids' skateboards which aren't allowed on, provides the distraction we need. "No officer we are just carrying the kids' stuff as well" - the distraction means that they don't notice that the kids are actually carrying more stuff than us. Reb goes off to sort out the skateboards and we sneak more stuff through as if it was her baggage allowance. She checks her actual baggage allowance through when she returns.
We're through security and almost on the plane. Shit - the same 'bad day' girl from the check in is taking boarding passes to the plane. I spy someone I know - it's my boss' daughter. Never a more vacant individual has walked the planet. "hi boss' daughter - I see you only have one small bag - would you be able to help us get our stuff on?", "OK", "Thanks". She takes some of our stuff and we disperse amongst other passengers so that 'bad day' girl won't recognise us. We manage to sneak on the plane and reassemble. Made it! Assuming Jet Star can land - which it does after only one false landing. Home. Exhausted but happy after a good tour.