After being gone for so long and being so far away from everything familiar and everyday, both loved and despised, it feels a bit strange to know that tomorrow I’ll wake up in my bed and make some breakfast in my kitchen, just like I have hundreds of times before, rather than waking up in a van outside of some unfamiliar city where there is not much of anything for certain except that Joel and I will be playing a show somewhere that night.

With so much lead up, so many hopes and so much effort having gone into this tour, along with the uncertainty and upheaval that came with us refusing to back down from carrying out our plan to tour within a year of when we finished our EP, as it got underway it was easy to think that there was no need to worry about what was on the other side, since there was no way of even knowing what that could be, as if a huge black void, or the edge of the world, waited for us at the end of the tour. No matter what happened, I suppose I knew I was headed back to LA when it was over, at least for awhile. But now as we drive closer and closer, I feel strangely scared, for the first time ever, perhaps, of everything the city of Los Angeles has become to me, and wish that right this moment I could more definitively say that in the semi-imaginary battle between Joel and I and the city of Los Angles that we had emerged victorious.

All of that aside, this tour has opened doors for us that seemed quite hopelessly locked just a few months ago, and we already have another tour of North America in the works for this summer, so I’m sure we’ll soon be so busy working on what comes next that I won’t have much time to be nervous.

So here you are, more photos from The Violet Lights’ 2012 North American Tour… part I.

Our plan as to where we would sleep that night, as well as most other nights for the next two months, was in our sleeping bag in the back of the minivan.  Now a month into the tour, the feel of this has become quite familiar to me, but that first night I quite suddenly became well acquainted with what it would really be like, and I was, a bit unexpectedly, struck by just how vulnerable to the elements I felt and just how much more difficult it was than just sleeping indoors. Suddenly my worn-out mattress and junky studio apartment back in warm and mild southern California seemed like some faraway haven of comfort and relaxation.

That night the rain poured down in a relentless torrent even before we stopped for the evening and didn’t let up until well into the morning.  A chill wind whipped the rain every which way and made any attempt at staying dry quite impossible.  This was less than ideal, because before we could crawl into our sleeping area under the wooden equipment bay Joel had installed in the van, our gear and supplies needed to be nearly completely rearranged from driving mode into sleeping mode, and that had to be done in the pouring rain.  The bathrooms were nearby, but unfortunately they were not heated and were open to the gusts of cold, wet wind. Thus washing up for the night and trips to the bathroom were something to get over with as quickly as possible and could not be done without getting quite cold.

Since that night, and as we have traveled further north through Wyoming, Colorado and the like, and rain storms have turned to blizzards, we’ve made a few additions to our supplies to make things more comfortable, including two more high-tech sleeping bags and some hiking-gear base layers.  Also, much to our relief and extreme delight, rest stops in areas where it gets below freezing in the winter are heated!  And some actually have hot water, too.  So, since then we’ve been able to stay quite warm at night, with the only really cold part being when we need to be out of the van.

Standing in stark contrast to the cold weather, however, and even more delightful than heat vents in rest stop lobbies, has been the reception from the fans at our shows.  There hasn’t been a single city we’ve played on our tour where we haven’t encountered fans excited about our music, people eager to tell us how much they enjoyed our show, or complete strangers who generously shower us with encouragement to continue on.  And continue on we will.

And although this tour, at first, was nothing but a thought without any plan to make it real or any reason to think we could actually pull it off, bit by bit it has become very real indeed. For us, however, making something real always involves an amount of hard work, time, and persistence that is nearly all we have, as well as willingness to put almost everything on the line.

To leave on this tour, we’ve quit our jobs in Los Angeles, rented out our apartment, sold our car and bought a van, got rid of our remodeled rehearsal space, sold as many of our other possessions as we could, and scrapped together funding for a not insignificant amount of equipment, merchandise, and promotion. We will be gone for a full two months, travel the entire country, and most of the time, the van will be our home.

We have some reason to believe that all of this will take us to a place we want to be, which is to be working on music full-time like we are right now, but of course there are no guarantees.

One thing that is certain is that it will be quite the adventure.

Packaging promo CDs to ship to NYC

Spray-painting stenciled designs onto our clothes

Scrubbing the bathroom floor before showing our apt., visiting the Genius Bar to get our laptop functioning

Last minute equipment and merch purchases, shipping back 1 of 2 malfunctioning keyboards

Empty boxes used to ship us posters, buttons, t-shirts, gear cases, guitar pedals, CDs, jewel cases…

Fixing a flat tire on our van and replacing missing lugs only a few days before we left

Washing and vacuuming the Ford Escort before selling it

Buying lumber to build sleeping/equipment compartments in the van, building a pedal board

Ever since October when we found out that the tour we’d dreamed of going on could actually be a reality, we’ve been been compiling an ever-growing and now quite sizable list of everything that needs to be accomplished before we go. And last week was to be when we would finally be able to start on it in earnest, since we’d both be working full-time on the music project for the first time ever.

But, alas, what was making Joel ill turned out to be a bad case of the flu, and by the next day I had it too. On top of that, our only computer stopped working again, depriving us of even movies and music to distract us from the fact that we couldn’t get anything done. So all last week, the amazing new efficiency we’d been dreaming of was just a day dream as we both lay in bed in the quiet green haze of our apartment.

Fortunately, we are getting close to being recovered now, and so ordering merch, renting out our apartment, getting all our equipment working, promoting the tour, and rehearsing has all begun, and just a week later than planned. I doubt that most people would think of sleeping in a van for two months during the winter as a great way to rejuvenate if you are feeling run down, but for us it may be just what we need.

But, as usual, what’s real is much harder to control than I’d like. Just a few days ago, my keyboard basically stopped working, and when it will be ready to use again is most definitely not going to be tonight. So, I’ve been busy figuring out how to use a different keyboard that will be adequate but not ideal, and Joel and I are working on figuring out a way to get mine working or replaced without breaking the bank.

On Saturday, the repair shop we visited in Culver City, huge and potentially spacious, was quite the sight, messily filled to the brim with thousands of pieces of musical equipment in various states of assembly and complete disassembly. But Joel told me that how bewilderingly disorganized the whole place appeared was in fact a good sign in regards to my keyboard actually getting fixed. He said he has always had better luck at shops that looked like this one: they are so chaotic because the owners are so focused on getting their customers’ equipment working that they don’t bother making sure their store appears perfectly in order.

Sometimes amusing, other times frustrating, it seems that whatever project we undertake, we like to make damn sure there are an incredible number of steps. This, in all honesty, can be quite intimidating, but when we do finally pull off what we are going for, we can usually say we made something we are truly proud of. So as it happens, the supply gathering, costuming, prop assembly, set preparation, and filming for this video have brought us all over the colorful city (and outskirts) of Los Angeles and kept us up late many a night. From climbing the rocks at Zuma Beach to sneaking around abandoned industrial parks in Santa Clarita, to standing in the waves in the windy cold night in Santa Monica, not to mention painting our windows green, bolting video lights to our ceiling, and ceaselessly rearranging our apartment, we’ve been putting this miniature monster of a three and half minute video together. It’s almost done, so wish us luck….and check out a sneak peek of what we’ve been up to.

Well, first we actually covered them with black paper and then taped individual sheets of letter size green paper over that, realized this initial plan was not going to work, tore it all down, made a late night trip to the hardware store, and finally created just the kind of green windows we’d been dreaming of. Joel assures me that the paint will come off effortlessly when we are finished. I suppose we shall see. But I do know that whatever happens it will all be worth it: the very first Violet Lights music video will be all yours by the end of the month.

Wow it WORKS!!!

Under the cover of darkness and a close lookout, files were downloaded, documents were printed, and we made our getaway completely undetected. The purpose of our mission…well, that’s top secret. Don’t worry, you’ll know soon enough.