A couple of days ago, I described our drive to Phoenix where we were opening for the Sundays in 1990, but said nothing about the show. That was no accident–it was probably the most dispiriting date of the tour. It required a lot of chatter to be louder than the multitude of buzzes in the p.a., but that night’s bored audience was up to the challenge. I can’t pretend we were looking forward to our next booking, our Salt Lake City debut. But to quote God’s autobiography on tape: I was worse than right, I was wrong. We got an incredibly enthusiastic reception from the beginning of our set till the end, actually longer. As Kevin, Wilbo and I broke down our equipment, people continued to clap. I was beckoned to the front row by someone too insistent to ignore. “Where’s Georgia?” she wanted to know. Backstage, I answered, thereby earning me an important mission: “Tell her she’s better than Sinead.” I did. Two years ago, the merchandise company Tannis Root threw a party in Raleigh to celebrate their 25th birthday, 23 years of which we’ve been working together. Redd Kross were on hand, and so were the Condo Fucks.
