We Versus the Shark

By Jeffrey Tobias

Photos by Mike White

March 9 — Athens, Georgia

Our tour kickoff was more or less an excuse for us to play with two of my favorite bands currently in existence; Ponytail and Pattern is Movement. Ponytail is a sort of joy-based lifeform with dueling guitars that realized they’d accomplish much more if they worked together. The lead singer is a wonderful, lost-in-it girl who wails and shrieks in wordless tones, but I suspect there’s a lot to be learned in her weirdo shrieks. Where Ponytail is rugged, Pattern is Movement is delightfully refined: Broadway-caliber crooning atop straight-up beautiful counter-rhythmic math-pop. We played a quick-n-dirty twenty minute set, just how I like it.

March 11 — Pensacola, Florida

After a great Saturday night in Birmingham, we began a sort of whirlwind tour of disastrous Sunday/Monday shows, performing for thin, unsympathetic crowds and disinterested bartenders. We admittedly do not react well to apathetic audiences, and this Sunday in Pensacola was no exception: at one point, we forced three unlucky drunks to form an “American Idol” panel and critique our snotty jams. Copping a Robert Fripp, our guitarist Luke played a solo while seated. Sorry, I can’t hear you over all this smarm! We generally played to amuse ourselves and our friends in Dead Confederate and Summerbirds in the Cellar, both of whom were unfortunate enough to join us for this banquet of frowns.

March 12 — Baton Rouge, Louisiana

While this show was lacking in an essential ingredient, a crowd, we had a great time at the Spanish Moon, an indelibly classy joint with unspeakably cute bartenders and a great sound guy with a taste for The Jesus Lizard. We were joined onstage at one point by an inebriated fellow with a panflute; yes, we invited him up. We were chomping at the bit to get to Austin and let the rampant irresponsibility of South By Southwest begin.

March 14 — Austin, Texas

We rolled into town around noon to play our first show, an “Athens in Austin” showcase featuring a lot of our local pals. As the audience fluctuated throughout the day, we found ourselves playing to a sparse few, but we kicked out our jams just the same, with not a little bit of obnoxious crowd-bating. We’d taken to starting our sets with our drummer, Scott, taking the role of rabid screaming frontman while a ringer sits behind the kit; there’s nothing like a hysterical, semi-nude hobbit to get people a little nervous.

March 16 — Austin, Texas

Our label showcase was at a venue that will remain nameless (The Light Bar) which was about as well-equipped for a rock show as, say, the La Brea Tar Pits. Whereas most clubs opt to invest in things like — I don’t know — a solid sound system, this place had waterfall walls and massage chairs (which our touring guitarist, Mr. Neil Callaghan, took advantage of for roughly two hours). Neil and I had been drinking free Sparks at a party that my other band, Dark Meat, performed at earlier that day, and we turned in a shirtless/sleeveless show that was aptly slurred and shook. (Later that night at a late night “secret” Vice party, a correspondent from Seattle’s alternative weekly snapped a picture of me crowd-surfing in nothing but face-paint and red Umbros; the photo was published in the column “Drunk of the Week.” Hi, Mom!).

March 17 — Hot Springs, Arkansas

Hot Springs is being shaped and molded into a real choice spot for touring bands by the ironic money-mongers in the band Attractive and Popular. This Sunday show was at a festival called the Valley of the Vapors, where we were treated to performances from sweet acts like Bellafea, Rad Racket, El Paso Hot Button and plenty more. Neil got drunk and ate shit every five minutes on a half-pipe.

March 18 — Tuscaloosa, Alabama

When we got to the wonderful terrible dive bar known as Egan’s, an excellent Irish band called Skullduggery was playing Pogues tunes to an enthusiastic crowd of liquored-up frat guys. (We had forgotten it was St. Patrick’s Day.) Not sure what to expect, we set up and began a set that would end in “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and a bloody nose for yours truly. As the towel I was holding to my nostrils rapidly became soaked in blood, the proprietor sternly reminded us that he was owed twenty more minutes of music.

www.weversustheshark.com