On a Rock Tour Without an Instrument
By Jesse Farrell
(Portions of this article appeared in The Phoenix Online)

Part 1

“The Road is life.” -Daniel Brennan, reading from On The Road

“The gust of wind that takes you on a journey…”- Uncle Monsterface, “Lionfist Journey”

Every now and then there’s a moment where you think “There is nothing in the world I would rather be doing.” These moments don’t come too often, and when they do, let them happen. Savor them.

My friend Marty, lead singer of the group Uncle Monsterface, told me they were going on tour and asked if I could come along. I’m not a musician, but I’ve helped the band out a number of times with their equipment, specifically the numerous sock puppets which are a part of their live show. An unusual rock trio whose sound has been described as “They Might Be Giants vs. Pee-Wee’s Playhouse,” Uncle Monsterface also has a lively stage show which incorporates puppets, films, animation, and masterfully produced, elaborate backing tracks. It’s an evening's entertainment that's hard to forget.

The puppets are lead by Uncle Monsterface himself. More than a mascot, Uncle Monsterface himself is the avatar of all that Uncle Monsterface, the band, represents: the power and joy of childhood exploding all over a dirty and compromised adult life. Usually contained behind the safety of the puppet theater, Uncle Monsterface is sometimes compelled to come out and join the show. The nearly seven foot, green-headed, avuncular presence has been seen dancing and running around many a venue.

When a rock band asks you to go on tour, unless there is a compelling reason not to- i.e. the bass player is a junkie and 8-months-pregnant- you go. So I made plans to take the first two weeks of March 2006 and spend them in a van traveling around the country with Uncle Monsterface and Harry and the Potters, two brothers who appear as Harry, year 4, and Harry, year 7, and perform songs entirely about Harry Potter and his years at Hogwarts School. It might sound silly, but this simple, brilliant idea has brought them success most working musicians can only dream of. A group of screaming teenage girls meeting the Potters is the kind of visual shorthand you see in movies when they want to signal “teen sensation.” They were graciously letting Uncle Monsterface open for them and gain access to their already-huge audience.

I set out on this tour with two promises to myself:

Be open and expect nothing.

Do it with good intentions.

Expectations of what you will do and see lead to disappointment, either if you don’t see what you're looking for, or even if you do. I decided not to miss what was happening while waiting for something else.

I enjoy what Uncle Monsterface does. It makes me happy when other people enjoy it, too. Uncle Monsterface’s creed is “For all the people, all of the time.”

We loaded in on a cold Friday morning, and I was tapped to drive the first leg. A good-sized van- the Pottermobile- was fit to overflowing with amps, guitars, keyboards, a projection screen, innumerable t-shirts and CDs for sale, two Mac laptops, two video cameras, three Nintendo DSes, as well as air mattresses, sleeping bags, innumerable snack items, and our luggage. Both bands rely heavily on prerecorded backing tracks and neither have a drummer. This made for five regular seats plus one cocooned, isolated seat, ideal for sleeping or just being left alone. We referred to it as The Man Cave.

The six of us traveling in the Pottermobile were:

The two DeGeorge brothers, Joe, Harry Potter year 4, and Paul, Harry Potter year 7: already old hands at touring, this was fun for them but nothing new. Joe, only 18, has been playing since he was 12 with his first band, the brilliant Ed in the Refridgerators. Despite his youthful celebrity, brains and incredible geek-chic, he’s easygoing, unaffected, and loves playing music for people. Paul, the older brother, is cordial but ruthlessly efficient in making deals and show dates.

“Hi this is Paul from Harry & the Potters,” went a typical cellphone conversation, his ubiquitous planner open and ready to record the details of the business. “Gosh, that’s great, Ethan!” ends the call with a genuine, enthusiatic flourish.

Marty Allen: lead singer and ringleader of Uncle Monsterface. Friendly without being overbearing, a high-energy guy who can walk into any group and be accepted and accepting as well. Few people who meet Marty come away less than a friend, and it takes a real jerk to get on his bad side. Marty knows how to live, simultaneously a geek and cool guy, and someone who is 100% himself at all times.

Dan Brennan: the relaxed guitarist with mystique and genius recording engineer behind the Uncle Monsterface sound. His sometimes self-deprecating sense of humor belies his easy confidence. Dan is a guy who just gets it: he quickly picks up on people, situations, and relationships. Dan also cuts a distinguished, Marty McFly-like figure at shows rocking his #10 Gray Blazer.

James Bernardinelli: the keyboard/keytar player and resident animator of Uncle Monsterface. The little brother of the group, adored but picked on, James is the perfect combination of fussy old man and dirty-minded fourth-grader. Just as at home watching Cartoon Network as he is at a nudie booth, James is thoroughly focused and intense when onstage.

Me, Jesse Farrell: an adjunct to Uncle Monsterface, but not actually a member. The oldest one traveling in the van, but by no means the most adult. I tried very hard to earn my place by lifting the heaviest equipment possible (earning me the nickname “Amp Champ”) and never, ever letting myself get tired if these kids weren’t.

Uncle Monsterface would make it to gigs on his own.

“Don’t trust technology”- Common tour refrain

“Where’s your invitation? She’s a green lady in the harbor, forty feet tall, with a torch and a pointy hat? ‘Give us your poor, your tired…’? Holding a book that says July IV, 1776? Maybe you’ve seen her? Yeah. There’s your invitation.”- Dan on New York City

The guys had decided that touring a different city and venue every night wasn’t enough; they had to write a song a day and document the trip in a series of video tour diaries . This is a thoroughly 21st Century endeavor, the music almost entirely composed and recorded on one of the two laptops, the vocals recorded in the moving van or in a house where we sleep, with occasional “real” instrumentation where available. Joe, with headphones on, cobbles together the simple-but-catchy "We're on Tour!" a fun sing-along.

The first venue had a boiler explosion, so we quickly transferred to an alternate location, a Church Basement in Brooklyn. We get there in the bitter cold and make our way across the ice to a dark basement/ dancehall, empty, but with a large stage and already-working disco lights.

“I guess this is the place.”

It’s a good turnout considering the sudden change in venue and Brooklyn’s deep freeze. But Uncle Monsterface immediately hits a snag. The Cyberhome brand DVD player they’d purchased hasn’t been tested yet. The DVD contains not only their videos and interstitial animations, but their backing tracks as well. A band with no physical rhythm section is dependant upon their electronic backup. When the DVD freezes and then skips, everyone is understandably apprehensive. What would this mean for the show? For the tour? Was this a harbinger of what we were to expect?

Cyberhome, the leader in $9.99 DVD players, comes through in the end. Perhaps it just needed to show that it is in charge, not us, but eventually the band’s opening, a strange and disturbing short called The Happy Beaver-Rodent Yay Hooray Show, kicks in. Since it’s played like a pirate broadcast the band has no control over, the technical glitch isn’t noticed and plays like part of the show. This controlled chaos and the audience’s faith that everything that happens onstage is something that would come up again the following night.

“Let’s Go to MANASSAS!”- Joe, lasciviously mispronouncing the name on roadsign for cheap laughs

We get to the University of Maryland early and ready to set up only to find the venue is still in use by the members of an African-American sorority having a tea party in their finest pastel dresses, complete with hats and gloves. Having no idea who we are, the lovely ladies quickly persuade us to take photographs as they, clearly practiced in posing in groups, fall into two synchronized lines, turned three-quarters toward the camera. They seem unaware that there is even to be a rock show tonight, let alone that any of us are supposed to be here. Still, we are graciously offered cookies.

It must be pointed out that none of them came to the show, as several pledged to do.

Something we see first in Maryland are a group of girls, wearing Potters’ “Save Ginny Weasley” t-shirts, holding signs indicating they’ve driven four hours to be here. Having come from Boston where a forty minute drive brings you to the edge of the Earth, this seems quite a feat. Marty was at the Merchandise table, the real nerve center of the touring rock show, when a girl tells him she’s herself driven two hours to make the show.

“You must really like the Potters,” he says.

“Yeah, but I mean I came two hours to see you.” This is amazing to us. Uncle Monsterface has a small but devoted following, mostly through their Myspace page but it’s the first indication that this thing has taken on a life far beyond us or people we know. It’s gratifying and scary, knowing someone out there is listening.

A giant of a man in a thick overcoat lumbers into the venue. With a face like a polar bear, he makes no indication of whether he approves, disapproves or is completely baffled by the show. His blank expression and lack of movement except an occasion dull blink worries me. I’m afraid he might, with that same impassive expression, produce a machete from his coat and set off on a holy mission to destroy the teen witches before him. Luckily a girl who resembles him- Daughter? Sister? - approaches and it’s clear he is here to escort her. Their relative ages are unguessable to me and I’m not about to count the rings in their trunks.

During the second song of the Potters’ set, the music comes to an abrupt halt. I see blood and for a second I wonder if my predictions of violence have come true with startling accuracy. Paul, breaking character, tells the audience to hold on a second while he checks his brother’s face in a show of fraternal concern. Confusion ripples through the crowd: Is this part of the act? Sure, got to be, I hear several people convince themselves. I know it isn’t, but can’t tell what’s happened. Are we calling off the rest of the show?

Paul had smacked Joe in the mouth in an overexhuberant guitar flourish. For a couple of minutes it seemed like Joe had lost a tooth, but it turned out he’d merely hit it good and hard. Hard enough to jam it partway into his skull. Troupers that Harry & the Potters are, Joe gets a baggie full of ice and finishes the singing through a bloodied mouth.

He’s hardcore, that kid.

To look at Joe, 5’8”, glasses, resembling more the Harry Potter of the novels than the blow-dried Harry of the movies, you forget that he’s already a longtime rock veteran and his wiry frame and jagged rock voice are trained to play, sing- and sometimes scream- at a different show every single night.

Pretty soon Marty, a screamer in his own right, is having some trouble doing this. He confesses he’s done no vocal preparation before the tour and left uncertain he’d be able to find the manic energy he’d always had for our other, more erratically scheduled shows.

Tonight we hole up in Paul & Joe’s aunt and uncle’s place in Virginia. The song-a-day is the danceable, Thrilleresque "Half Vampire/Half Lightning," based on a misheard phrase everyone thought James has used. Joe’s emergency dental appointment is scheduled for the next day.

“Well I don’t know what this is, but I know I’m welcome to it!”-James

Joe’s 9:00 am Sunday emergency dental visit provides him with a temporary brace and strict instructions to watch it closely for any sign that the tooth is dead or dying. A root canal will have to follow, but for now the show goes on.

“Will I still be able to sing?” Joe asks the dentist.

“I don’t know, I’ve never heard you.”

Baltimore is our next stop. It’s a town I’ve never been to before, but now I think I could live here pretty happily. Knowing us to be geeks, Paul arranged for us to visit Atomic Books, a funky little book and comic store offering more autographed John Waters merchandise than if Waters himself had a garage sale. For me, a good comicbook store is a prerequisite of a town where I can live, and while the selection of comics isn’t too meaty, I could get both the new Love & Rockets and All-Star Superman. And across the street is The Golden West, a restaurant with Tater Tots (with two dipping sauces) on the menu. Yup, I could live here.

Tonight night we play The Talking Head Club, a small, dark room with a bar, similar to O'Brien's in Allston back home. Despite being cloistered, it ’s a friendly place. I am hit with the first culture shock as everyone at the venue smoked, reminding me that there are still bars where people can do that.

Minor tech problems again, but it seems like the more the Cyberhome DVD player is used, the better it behaves. At the risk of sounding like a lunatic, I have a strong belief that there are more to electronic devices than we know, and that stress in us can manifest in them. How often has your computer eaten that valuable document right before you can hit ctrl-S? We’re run on electricity and so are they. Once we started to get comfortable, the machine did the same.

The place is packed. For the first time, it‘s suggested that Uncle Monsterface himself stay out by the merchandise table while the Potters do their set. He danced, poses for photos and mingles with the crowd, who are warm and ready to embrace him. Uncle Monsterface is normally very shy, but a complete ham as soon as he knows he’s got the floor. He, waves, flirts and dances with anyone who asks. And he really, genuinely likes people in a way that I wish I could.

As the crowds clear out, the Potters meet fans and pose for photos. There's a girl in a Save Ginny Weasley t-shirt off by herself, camera in hand, who keeps shyly looking over at Uncle Monsterface. Seeing this with his gigantic orange eyes, he makes his way over and she, bashfully but with great delight, asks for a photo. She hands the camera to a man, likely her father (Potter fans are sometimes young enough to need chaperones). Uncle Monsterface gently takes the camera and, unclear on the point of this, silently but urgently ushers the man and girl together so he can take their photo.

We head back to the Potters’ Aunt and Uncle’s. For the second night in a row I get a guest bedroom all to myself. Hey, I offered, but everyone played the “too-polite” game, which cuts little ice on the road. I sleep like the dead.

“You don’t know where stuff comes from so much, do you?” -Me
“I don’t really need to: it’s already there!” -James

Having never been on a tour before, I can’t tell how typical our experience is. For all the little glitches here and there- overzealous fans competing with the bands for the audiences’ attention, crappy, disgruntled soundmen, the occasional baffled or too-cool-for-a-good-time audience member- by and large every show goes very well. Granted, we stack the deck with cartoons and puppets, but those don’t get people singing your songs and buying your CDs after the show’s done unless the music is also fun. Is this what being a touring musician is? Is it beginner’s luck? I’m not saying that Uncle Monsterface is singular or, to quote Kanye West, that this is “history in the making,” but it is a good start.

Staying with a friend’s family in NC, we luxuriate in a comfortable, beautiful home nestled in the woods beside a quiet street. Mom here is a Buddhist and we are put up in the Meditation room. Despite our noise and chaos it is still tranquil and serene. We’re fed delicious homemade minestrone soup from the family recipe. In the morning, our hostess Marissa, Marty and I exercise. Afterward as I’m enjoying my first hot shower in days, I think about this trip. We’re not making a lot of money, but it’s enough to eat well and have a few bucks in our pockets each day. We’re meeting good people, with good friends, eating delicious food, seeing a new city every day, performing and making people happy … I know this is a set of conditions which can’t last, but I see how our hosts- a generous family in a peaceful home who love and care for one another- live, I wonder if maybe there is more to this journey than I’m seeing. I have one of those moments of “This means something;” there is a lot to digest, but I feel like there is a lesson for me here if I’m smart enough to get it.

It’s like Apocalypse Now in reverse; we’re moving south, where it’s warmer, toward a world that makes more sense, toward a life that we want.

“We ate tacos and stuff. It was the best show ever and there were lots of hot girls.”

King's Barcade and Tavern in Raleigh, NC looks to prove a challenge. An ancient, black barking dog, Georgia, greets us. I like dogs the way Uncle Monsterface likes people, so despite her bark, I saw a wagging tail and ask if I can let her come over and say hi.

“You’d better not,” says the soundman. He looks like the kind of guy who, were you to get into a fight with him, you’d come in second. Middle-aged, bearded and balding, he’s thick and powerfully built, like he might just as easily be the bouncer as soundman. Looking around King’s, a place where for the first time on the tour it looks like people come to drink- beer, and a lot of it- that I wonder what we might be in for. We’re a bunch of Yankee punks who sing songs about Harry Potter and breakfast delicious Life delicious Life cereal and this is -gulp- a real bar in the South. A lot of the apprehension evaporates when Marty, courteous as ever, calls the soundman as “Sir,”

“Fuck that,” he smiles, “I know I’m old enough to be your father, but call me Eric.” And with that, King’s becomes a very friendly place and one of the highlights of the tour.

During the show, toward the end of their set, Marty comes up to the puppet stage to talk to Uncle Monsterface.

“What’s that Uncle Monsterface?” he asks, listening intently to the soundless little green puppet. “You have something for us? Something super awesome which is going to give us magical powers? Well, where is it?” Showboat that he is, Uncle Monsterface needs to be cajoled by the audience into coming out.

“Do you think Uncle Monsterface should come out?” Thunderous cheers. Uncle Monsterface shakes his little head: no. “It’s okay, Uncle Monsterface. Come out!” As the puppet ducks inside the theater, the band assures the crowd that it should be perfectly safe, but warns them not to look Uncle Monsterface in the eye, to touch his giant, gnashing teeth, and that the Uncle Monsterface organization must be held harmless in case of accidents and to sue the Potters.

There are gasps as Uncle Monsterface steps out, gingerly; hands held out in front of him like a child planning to steal cookies, or a shy T-rex. He’s nervous and excited at all the faces there to see him in the crowd.

“What do you have for us, Uncle Monsterface?” Marty asks. Uncle Monsterface scratches his head and then it hits him; he pantomimes “A-ha!” with an outstretched index finger then begins his run around the room, through the crowd, at people, veering wildly, running in place. “Go, go, Monsterface, go!” the band sings as he finally finds his prize: three children’s bedsheets that he returns to the band.

“Oh,” Marty says, masking his confused disappointment like a child who’s just gotten socks for Christmas, “ You got us some… Old laundry.”

“It smells like childhood,” James says, “Mostly urine.” Uncle Monsterface holds up a finger: just wait.

He lifts a He-Man sheet up and, with great reverence, gently places it over Marty’s shoulders. Marty and the audience “ooohh!” in sudden understanding.

“They’re capes!” Marty exclaims. With one word, the ordinary has been turned into something magical. The crowd “ahhhs” at the sudden revelation. Sure, it’s supposed to be funny, but didn’t it also really just happen?

Marty reveals that the cape gives him the power to stop time, which he demonstrates by using Evie’s finger gesture from the old TV show “Out of This World.” This period of frozen time, imperceptible to the audience, gives them time to write and record a new song, even long enough to put it on their CD. “And I messed with you, and you… I switched your socks around…” Dan tells the audience before they launch into the song entitled, appropriately enough, “Capes.”

Watching them onstage I see the moment -I hear it when the cheer comes up- when the audience goes from a crowd being entertained to fans. It’s a sense that everyone involved, band and audience, are participating in something bigger than themselves.

It’s a feeling that won’t last too long.

(Potterface Tour videos and Song-a-Day songs can be downloaded here. Free!)

Read Part 2