Australian singer-songwriter Marcus Blacke is currently on his first tour of the United States. He’s checking in with us from the road to share some of his adventures on the American road. Read on for the latest update, plus a featured song from his new self-titled album.
After Niagara we proceed to get ready for Detroit, however no amount of brain power can actually get anybody ready for the post-apocalyptic vibe of the place. To be honest when we arrived at the hostel I was less than impressed; there was some guy talking to himself wandering around aimlessly, asking himself “is this me, am I me, is it morning.†I’m pretty off the planet at times and aloof, but I just don’t need this shit right now the 8 hour drive was enough. We check out the spot we are playing this evening, it’s a dive bar called PJ’s Lager House; everyone seems to be raving about it so my hopes are up.
Later at the show we meet Olivia and Stephen (the other acts on this evening). Stephen seems to be a nice guy, Olivia is really nice as well, however I don’t know what the hell I am any more, sitting here playing to Olivia, Stephen and the sound guy, wondering mid set what the fuck I’m doing here, is there a point to this shit. Later on PJ further enforces my feeling of worthlessness by announcing that he didn’t think we were what we were and there was some sort of mix up.
Today we arise and get taken on a guided tour by the actually wonderful hostel staff. You know what Detroit is kinda cool by the end of it. We got to witness firsthand the extreme diaspora of the Detroiters who fled from their city. Abandoned houses litter the place, subtly framed by the odd street where mansions somehow avoided the urban degradation that has taken place. The downtown areas are swarmed with middle age entrepreneurs trying to find ways to create buzz and build opportunities, ducking in and out of hotels and coffee shops. It was cool, Detroit, but I don’t think I could live here, unless I owned the Fischer building and even then it would only be on the occasion. We push on to Chicago.
Chicago seems like a nice place. We are playing with Kelsey Wild this evening at Uncommon Ground. A frail old gentleman named Don enters the room and he’s got his walking frame happening. He’s quite frazzled as the bus driver took him to far and he ended up in a part of town that was no good and had quite a considerable walk. I offer him a drink or food if he needs it but it seems the staff take care of him as he is a regular.
For some reason I’m really fragile today, I’m rattled by the Detroit show the late nights and the 11,000 KM we have driven in the last 6 weeks, to say I’m over it would be an understatement. As I walk to my car to get the last of my gear for the show I’m thinking about all those times my old man said things like don’t do that, this is the better way, etc… and all the advice that I was too stubborn for throughout the years, and I concede he was right along with my mother. It’s at this point I hear a terrifying continuous cackle coming from a hunched over elderly man hobbling along the street towards me I am covered in goosebumps.
The show this evening had a really nice audience. Kelsey Wild made me cry she was so bloody good, I absolutely loved every second of what she did. We played a great show tonight. We can only afford an Air B&B an hour away. When we finally get in after a more than convoluted message of where the key for the place is it smells like a dog kennel and we are less than enthusiastic but exhausted. The towels are half size and stained and frayed, so after our showers we both stumble around like some sort of shrouded delirious homeless kennel sniffers. It was worth it to hear Kelsey and meet Don though.
Arrive in Des Moines.
We end up at the High Life dive bar late night eats joint in Des Moines to satisfy our 10pm hunger.
Des Moines is on the radar, I love this city once we get past all the soy and corn fields. There’s something on the up about this place, our accommodation is so central and appears wonderful initially. My fragility is on the edge today, I don’t know where I can summon the energy from for this show. I feel like something has sucked all the energy out of me and sleep won’t help, I pray to God or whatever power is able to help me through this show and just to cope.
In the evening we hit the stage and I don’t feel like I’m singing. The other artists playing Alec Ryan and Courtney Krauss are wonderfully eclectic songwriters from the local area. They bring a very decent Monday audience to the venue and make this the best show of the tour thus far. I’m left scratching my head, with a feeling of unreal about the whole thing.
We hang out in Des Moines for a couple more days. I meditate in Birdland Park in the day, I’m really in need of a good dose of sunshine and some clear headspace. Everywhere is infested with mosquitoes, I actually lap the park a few times searching for the spot. Eventually I find a place up on the hill next to the heritage carousel, I clear my mind but about 40 minutes in I hear a faint cooing or squeaking, I find a small juvenile raccoon in one of the bins swimming in absolute filth crying. I run back to the car and gather a couple of merch shirts, run back and fish it out of the filth, thinking that perhaps I achieved something as it hobbles off hopefully to find its salvation in the grass of the recreation space.
The following evening we observe a few “weird†things about the air B&B, For one there’s a gymnastics vault by the bed, I think it’s strange a couple of times, but shrug it off. There’s also a big oblique sturdy piece of timber with big hinges fastened to one of the walls. Again I think nothing of it.
That evening I ask Jared if he has seen an iron in the place? He responds with looking in the closet. What he finds is strange and kind of disturbing. Sex toys, whips, dozens of ropes, paddles and just about every kink device imaginable in a box and a big black sports bag, along with a step by step guide to bondage, tripods and cameras. We look up above the closet in the exposed loft space. In all its minimalism lies a huge wooden cross that fastens to the hinges on the wall. Every piece of furniture in this studio seems to have some kind of bondage fastening device on it, the bed, the table, the vault, the wall, all used for who the fuck knows what. I feel betrayed by my air B&B experience, but the show was worth it. So later on at Walgreens grabbing some water for ourselves, we buy some liquid pumpkin baby food along with finding Nemo Diapers and hide a pumpkin puree filled diaper inside the Air B&B’s big black cringe bag. It suits the other bullshit they have in the bag, the room erupts with our hearty laughter. So long bondage studio, back to Newark to leave for the West Coast.
About the author: Mild-mannered corporate executive by day, excitable Twangville denizen by night.