Colin contends with the loss of our annual Christmas Eve Eve show with a musical year-end wrap-up.
Read MoreThree Songs in My Life with Nada Surf, Part Two: "Blizzard of 77" - by Colin Gawel
Three Songs in My Life with Nada Surf, Part Two: "Blizzard of 77" - by Colin Gawel
January hadn’t been that cold, but February turned brutal. Ohio can land on either side of the jet stream and that particular month we might as well been on the shores of Hudson Bay. It didn’t get above 10 degrees for weeks at a time, and the mood at home was even colder. My car had broken down and I didn’t have the money to fix it. Adding insult to injury, I had recently blown out a tire on my bike too (a ten-speed). Not that biking to work was a serious option at this point.
The coffee shop opened at 6am and if I left my house at 5:20am, I could make it there on foot by 5:59. Down the hill towards the river, cut behind the strip mall, through the woods past a small graveyard behind the Speedway gas station and to the Golden Bear Center where the newly named “Colin’s Coffee” was located.
Business wasn’t good. But I guess that was to be expected considering the previous owner couldn’t find a buyer and was prepared to close the shop even though he still owed 18 months on the lease. At the last minute, I stepped in and he basically handed the keys and said, “It’s your problem now. Good luck.”
Oh, and I didn’t know anything about running a coffee shop except how to serve coffee, be friendly and clean the bathrooms. The learning curve was steep.
However, I was running low on options at that point and the coffee shop offered flexible hours allowing my wife and I to avoid using day care for Owen. That was like a salary in its own way and we got to be hands-on parents. I looked at that as a hidden blessing, though it didn’t much feel that way on a day to day basis.
The Fifth of July Tour had ended after eighteen months, and despite our best efforts, over a hundred shows, two singles, and endless promo....we were back home and ass-out. Pretty standard stuff for rock n roll, but this time my actions had a deeper effect. About twelve months into our tour, my wife confessed that she couldn’t take anymore of this. She was working full time, taking care of our two year old son and I was mostly gone, without making any money.
I reminded her that I had promised to see this through to the end. We had talked and agreed that it would get tough, but we would see it through.
We had both agreed.
“I know we agreed, but I just can't do this any more. I need you to stop touring."
“I’m sorry. I know this isn't fair. But I can't stop until the date I agreed to. I can't stop. I'll make it up to you."
And to make matters worse, I was having the time of my life. Not like it was a non-stop party, it was a ton of work. But my days and dreams of being a semi-relevant touring artist were numbered. I truly had an appreciation for each gig and the chance to play the songs we wrote together one more time.
I agreed with everything she said. She was right to be upset. It wasn’t fair. She asked me to call off the tour and come home. I said no. She said if I didn’t call off the rest of the tour it would do irreparable damage to our relationship and possibly threaten its very existence.
Six months after that phone call, the tour was finally over, Watershed had failed by any reasonable metric and I was home for good. For better or worse. It wasn't exactly a homecoming. My wife was still understandably upset and I wasn’t sure if I could change that.
But just like that Watershed tour, I dug in. I put my head down and made that long cold walk to the coffee shop every morning in the dark. I knew I had to figure out a way to pay some bills and for her not to spend every night sleeping with her back to me. I owed her for her patience and support.
I had no answers and no quick fixes. I retreated to my default setting of optimism. I would just do the best job I could every single day. I would control what I could control, i.e: my effort. I would apply it as a business owner, as a husband, and - most importantly - as a Dad.
Just like that cold dark morning walk, it was an exercise in faith. I could not see clearly where I was going, I just knew I had to keep walking and eventually, somehow, someway, I would get our family to a better place. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Things could fall apart. It happens to well-meaning people all the time. Certainly I was no exception.
Anyway, February was cold. I slept in my long underwear to save time dressing with my 5:10 am alarm. The stars were bright and my breathe was frozen. Every morning on that walk, the first song I played was Blizzard of 77.
And I played this song every morning too.
Three Songs in My Life with Nada Surf: Part One "Always Love" - by Colin Gawel
Nada Surf is playing the A & R Bar in Columbus, Ohio tonight. I'm going to see them for the first time. They are one of my favorite bands. - Colin G. 9/22/16
Three Songs in My Life with Nada Surf: Part One - "Always Love"
"Have you heard the new Nada Surf song? It might be the best song I've ever heard." That's a pretty strong statement. And coming from my Watershed bandmate - future Hitless Wonder author Joe Oestreich - it carried twice the weight. Unlike myself, Joe is not prone to hyperbole. "Alright then. I'll be the judge of this, fire up the tune, Biggie." I responded.
So as the van rolled East on a beautiful stretch of I-64 towards a gig in Charlottesville, I heard "Always Love" by Nada Surf for the first time. It started perfect and only got better. Damn, Joe might be right. This is one of my favorite songs ever. Right now. After one listen. "Biggie, spin them shits again." It was even better on the second listen. I remember thinking, "Did he just sing, 'It helps to write things down, even when you then cross it out'"? That's a great line.
Of course, the context of when a listener receives a song always plays huge into its reception. That's why seeing the Red Hot Chili Peppers while drunk in some club is kinda fun, but hearing the same band on the radio while stuck in traffic makes you want to wretch. At that point, I was in great spirits. Everything was sounding good to my ears. Watershed was finally a truly great band touring behind a truly great record in The Fifth of July. We had had our moments in the past: but the then-current line-up of myself, Joe, Dave Masica and Mark "Pooch" Borror - along with the road crew of Biggie and newly hired roadie/older brother Ricki C. - was really gelling. You didn't have to like us or maybe we weren't your taste, but at that moment we were truly a great rock n roll band at the height of its powers. We never used a setlist and could do a smoking 40-minute opening set in an arena or a three-set marathon in a bar in Marquette, Michigan. It was all the same to us. Something about playing a thousand shows, I guess.
We had a new manager in Thomas O'Keefe, working radio & booking shows; and even a little tour support thanks to Columbus restaurant entrepreneur Cameron Mitchell. The last part was HUGE. I had recently married the girl of my dreams and we had a young son at home. In fact, being a part-time stay-at-home Dad really helped my writing with the latest record. Not much to do sitting home with a baby, so I wrote "The Best Is Yet To Come" and "Small Doses" instead of going out to the bars. One day I served Cameron coffee in the morning and then was his server later that night at a different restaurant. He said, "Let me get this straight, you work two jobs, help take care of a baby at home and tour & record with Watershed?" "Yes, sir." "Maybe you could use some financial help?" he asked. I answered, "I would never ask you for that." He responded, "I know you wouldn't, that's why I'm offering." It was the kindest thing anybody outside of Joe's dad had ever done for the band.
When the record was finished and all this momentum started lining up, my wife and I had a serious talk about the band doing some touring. She was all for it. Follow your dreams and all that. I did not sugarcoat what we were about to get into. I had done this before: three times, in fact. They were all resounding failures in the traditional sense (money & security). She had never been through a touring cycle before. So I tried my best to be brutally honest. I laid it out almost word for word like this:
1) If I agree to this, these people own me for the next 18 months. They can schedule me anywhere, anytime, with rare exceptions. I could miss funerals and weddings. In the past I had missed my grandmother's funeral and my Mom's passing from lung cancer.
2) I cannot quit halfway through, even if it gets tough. If anything is going to happen it will be towards the end of the 18 months. Many people are now working on my behalf and I owe it to them to give it my best: better not to even try than to quit 15 months in.
3) The odds of success were worse than looking for a needle in a haystack. No matter how good the record, how good the band and management, we were signing on to basically drive around the entire country to find one needle in one certain haystack. Everybody is talking a good game now but this probably isn't going to work. Is that clear?
Still, being the beautiful, supportive person she was, she enthusiastically signed off on the plan. "You should go for it one more time."
So riding in the van at that moment, I somehow had yet another stay of execution of being forced to give up my life's passion and forced to retreat to the real world and a real job. But none of that mattered now. I was back from the dead. Life- support systems suddenly plugged back in by the mighty hands of rock n roll (along with producer Tim Patalan), traveling with my friends to play music and listening to one of the best songs I had ever heard.
Actually, I knew Nada Surf. Almost sorta literally. Their drummer Ira Elliot had been the drum tech for The Smithereens when we were lucky enough to open up a tour for them during our Epic records days. The tour was a blast and Ira was a heck of a nice guy to us bunch of Ohio hayseeds, who had somehow landed a major record deal. Ira was NYC all the way. I remember hanging with him at the Windjammer on Isle of Palms, SC and while we are all rocking shorts and beachwear, Ira was donning skinny jeans and big black leather boots. Frankie LaRocka would have been proud. When Ira wasn't out working for 'Reen's drummer, Denis Diken, he had his own band. They were called Nada Surf.
During that tour, The Smithereens got dropped from their label after a show in San Antonio. About two months after that, we got dropped too. Sometime after that, I don't know how long, I turned on MTV and there was a popular video getting lots of spins. The song was actually called "Popular" and the band was....Nada Surf. "Damn, that's Ira's band. Good for him."
Coming Soon: Three Songs in My Life with Nada Surf Part Two - "Blizzard of 77"
Colin Gawel plays in the band Watershed (and in the bands The Lonely Bones and The League Bowlers) and also as a solo act. You can read all about him in the book Hitless Wonder by Joe Oestreich.
He is a dad, husband, coffee shop owner, and - oh yeah - is the founder of Pencilstorm, too.