Comic Phallacies

May 11- There is something about the wall of a backstage dressing room that seduces young men to cover its surface with crude drawings of penises. We have seen Pac-Man performing a lewd act on one of his ghosts, a large whale with a larger codpiece, numerous horses, and countless smiling phalluses. I’d like to say I am above this sort of thing, but I often find myself chuckling at them under my breath. In fact, I giggle pretty much every time I hear the word ‘penis.’ The longer we’re out on tour, the funnier it becomes. I’m in hysterics as I type this. By the end of the month I’ll probably be scribbling the pornographic graffiti myself (if you sing to me in French), laughing all the while. Out on the road, one sleeps less, bathes less, eats worse, and drinks far, far more than could ever be considered acceptable at home. And it leads to penis drawings on backstage walls.

One step beyond penis-drawing is arson. Last night after the afterparty (which was brilliant, a very special thank you to everyone who came out for making it such a good time), Zachary, Zebastian and myself found ourselves in the house rented by a few of the boys from Sunshine Underground, a kick-ass band from Leeds. When we ran out of drinks, everyone convened in the front yard and started a massive bonfire. There was no rhyme or reason to it—we weren’t cooking anything, nor were we particularly cold or angry—it just felt like the right thing to do at the time. Then we painted our faces, danced and sang, shouted. Kill the Pig, Spill His Blood… (Okay, the last part didn’t happen, but it was all very Lord of the Flies.) Take away the laws of everyday day life, and young men will regress to the most primitive of behaviors.

It’s long overdue that we all give a tip-of-the-hat to Miss Dyan Valdes, the lone member of the fairer sex on our adventure. Nathaniel, Zebastian, Zachary and myself are a rowdy, dirty, farty, noisy, sloppy, stinky and all-around juvenile bunch… It is testament to Dyan’s total-awesomeness that she can stay cooped-up in a van with us for five hours a day, hang out with us nearly 24-7, and actually have a really good time while somehow avoiding to pick up any of our nasty habits along the way. And she’s the only one of us who hasn’t adopted the funk of stale beer, which has infected the entire van and anyone who wanders near. (Eons ago she promised me a guest-entry on the secrets, hardships, and hilarity of being a woman on the road with her rock ‘n’ roll band. Encourage her to follow through, as I think she has taken to ignoring me.)

I guess the moral of today’s entry is that the world be scrawled with cartoon penises and set on fire if there weren’t any girls around. Or maybe it’s just that Nathaniel, Zebastian, Zachary and myself are a rowdy, dirty, farty, noisy, sloppy, stinky and all-around juvenile bunch, and Dyan is the most righteous rock ‘n’ roller I’ve ever met. (It’s probably the latter.)

Our good friends from Los Angeles are meeting up tonight at the Glasgow Barfly, and we’re Djing the afterparty, and I’m super-duper excited! Exclamation point!

XXXOOO.

-Ben Lee