NEW YORK – NINE DAYS WITH CROM PART II

Now that all assets are in, we present you the conclusion of Crom’s Eastern Destruction tour 08. Enjoy!

Day Four: Richmond, Virginia, some sushi restaurant. I order one piece of albacore and they bring me a bowl of weird meat, mostly squid and shit that I hate. I tried to eat the pieces I recognized but immediately felt sick. I went into the bathroom and barfed, then I pissed out of my ass for a good 20 minutes (which was a perfect opportunity to make some overdue phone calls home). Always good to play shows with an exploding anus. Mike Watt used to seal the bottoms of his jeans with duct tape, but I’m more into sharing. RD still hasn’t slept a wink up to this point. Andre drank a fifth of something and proceeded to drive an hour north to Fredericksburg, until a state trooper pulled us over and administered a sobriety test.  “Follow my finger with your eyes not your head,” he said. Andre’s head couldn’t help but follow that finger so he told the trooper that there was someone sober in the van. We all yelled “Not it” and RD was last to say anything so he got behind the wheel.   

We ended up at Glenn from Underdogma Records’ house (thanks man), got high and drunk and listened to Li’l Wayne. Oh, and I took SEVERAL shits.

Day five: Richmond again. We played a house party, shit went berzerk, people asked us to sign our new record. By the time they got to me I can see that everyone else in the band drew dicks in place of sigs, awesome. RD sleeps… finally.   

Day six: New Brunswick, NJ. Upon entering the bar a girl pulls my hair and says “Long hair is my thing.” Over the course of the night she hit on every person in the bar and I am pretty sure made out with our drummer after telling him she was trying to fuck some other dude. She did scratch a Mayhem logo into his neck, which was pretty fucking killer. People from the other bands recognized us when we walked in, and I asked “Wow, how did you know we’re Crom?” One of the dudes says “we watched your train wreck show at the Cake Shop. It’s up on the internet! Nice work!”

Day seven: Providence. Played the firehouse, the owners kept screaming “Stop throwing beer there’s art on the wall.” The crowd was bonkers. I watched Fill get dragged around on his back while he was playing. Scored some coke. The Providence coke doesn’t get you high, but it does turn your dick into a tiny wee li’l button. Went to a party where I guess I said a bunch of racist shit and freaked some dudes out. Crom is a multiracial band, and all we do is cap on each others’ races, but I guess what’s fun for us bums out those who have never seen a bean-dog in real life. Well there’s that and then there is of course the constant farting and shitting. Constant.

Day eight: Worcester, MA. We played in a tetanus cave that was billed as a skatepark. This town is like a scab floating in a toilet. Before we went on there was an all-girl punk band doing a devo cover and some dude rode out into the pit on someones shoulders spraying the audience with beer. Then he winged the empty bottle straight into RD’s face, causing him to bleed profusely.

We went outside to check on him, and see what he wanted to do about the show. He was bleeding a LOT! Some of us were saying “fuck this place” by that point, but ultimately it was bleedo’s decision. While we were discussing it the girl who booked the show (a chick named Gin who has a full sleeve of Wendy O Williams) came out and said “Honestly, ya goys sound kinda fuckin’ gay about this.”

RD insisted that we play, so we did and he sopped up his blood with one of our white tour shirts. At the end of the set the booker said “Can oy hayve the bloody shart?” RD handed it over willingly, but jokes on her–he’s got fuckin’ hep c HAHAHAHAH. We ran out of beer pretty quickly which was strange because we’d just bought a 30-pack and two 18s before the show. I remembered some kids partying in the bathroom had given me a big swig of vodka, so I thought “Fuck yeah, I will hit them up again, they were pitting.” As I was walking up the steps to find the booze this crusty kid grabs me, saying, “Hey, help me clean up all this blood.” It was everywhere. Some 17-year-old girl was sitting with blood spurting out of her head in the corner in her bra (using her shirt to soak the blood ala RD, but it was still projectile). I have a blood phobia so I fucking ran back out to the car. Evidently that was her second fight of the evening. We went to a party after in boston and did amyl nitrate and some blow and then took RD to get 16 stitches.

Day nine: ABC No Rio, NYC. We got added on to a day show here so we told them we’ll play last. We get more beer and kick it in the back with Dave from Unsane and break some balls. I’ve still got the vial of amyl and some kids are asking me for beer or weed, both of which I had but wasn’t sharing. I said “Try this,” and they hit the amyl. While they were “seeing colors” or whatever, I escaped to procure more coke. Which was very good coke indeed, thank you NYC!

That night we play at Rockstar Bar in Brooklyn. Fill was talking to the guys in Villains, but they had to stop him to let him know that they were having the exact same conversation they had before the Cake Shop show (oops). I don’t want a repeat of the first night, so I order Fill and I waters with ice, then I give him a couple key bumps and we play the most furious game of air hockey on earth. My memory after that is sort of shot, but Fill was able to recollect the following: (this is Fill talking now, I mean no, not now, but once this parenthetical ends) We play our final set of the tour and there was seriously a case of beer poured out onto the floor.  I thought the ridiculously buff owner was going to kick all of our asses but we finished before that could happen. For the rest of the night we party at some metal bar a few blocks away, scope out some pretty good Maiden tats, Scott does a chair dance to “Breaking the Law” and then, simultaneously, we all explode. The End.

All hail Crom, fuck your mom.

SCOTT BAG (WITH FILL)